Season 9-8 - Mr Monk Goes Underground
by MonkNotJunk
Summary: The Monks have settled into their beautiful home near Boston, but a series of disturbing events threatens to destroy life as they know it. Can they solve the mystery and bring back the needed balance in time? 8th in a series based upon the characters from the TV Series Monk. As always, the copyright to the characters of the TV series belongs to their creators.
1. Chapter 1

_Coast Guard Authorities tell Channel 10 News that two explosions seen around ten miles offshore from Boston were that of a fishing vessel running aground on Shag Rocks near Little Brewster Island. _

"No…" Adrian Monk said as he sat mesmerized by the television broadcast "No. That's not right."

"Adrian. Come on outside. You're missing the fireworks." His wife Natalie shouted to him through the French Doors leading to their patio, overlooking the Atlantic.

_Lieutenant Paul Bastian stated that mechanical trouble was to blame for the wreck._

_[cut to interview] "This afternoon, Ensign Alejandro Sanchez and Ensign James Turner were working on the lighthouse when they saw a fishing vessel driven by a Mr. Brendan Stowell veer towards the rocky outcrop, wreck and then burst into flames. _

"Hey Monk, you coming? They have some excellent Chili cheese dip out here." Leland Stottlemeyer said, poking his head in the door.

_[cut back to anchor] 65 year old Stowell's body was not recovered from the incident and with riptides being as they were, it is expected that he may never be found._

_In other news, Mayor Christopher Brody announced the opening of a new shopping mega-mall in Bay Village…_

"Monk?... Monk?" Leland said, walking over to the television remote and turning down the sound.

Adrian's visage looked disturbed, a look that Stottlemeyer, as his former crime-fighting partner, knew all too well.

"You okay, Monk?" asked Stottlemeyer.

"It's not right." Adrian responded.

"What's not right?" asked Leland.

"The news. That story. The story isn't right. It's not what happened." Adrian responded.

"What? About the explosions?" asked Leland.

"Yeah. They said that it was a fishing vessel that ran ashore and exploded. This was a much larger plume than would be produced by a fishing vessel. It was more like…I don't know, it was the kind of explosion you might see with the detonation of an IED or something. And then, the second explosion was a little further away and was even bigger, like that of a missile." Adrian answered.

"Yeah, well. Maybe it was a _really big_ fishing vessel." Stottlemeyer suggested.

"Come on, Leland. You know better than that. You saw it too. That wasn't a gasoline explosion caused by a boat running ashore. That was something bigger." Adrian responded.

"I also know that when you're talking Coast Guard, you're talking military intelligence, so…if they say it was a fishing vessel, then most likely that's the only answer you're going to get." Stottlemeyer said. "Let it go, Monk. You don't always have to be on duty. Let's put down the remote and go out and enjoy a beer, or in your case, a nice glass of iced tea with our wives and just relax on this beautiful July evening." Leland said, taking the remote and turning off the TV.

* * *

For the rest of the evening, Adrian tried his best to be a good host to his house guests, but everyone knew him well enough to know that his mind was elsewhere. Still, they knew that it was best not to disturb him when he was 'thinking', because something brilliant was bound to come about or at least whatever was bugging him would be addressed and life could quickly return to normal. In fact, when he got this way, there were only three things that could redirect his focus – his four-month-olds Lee and Abby Monk, and, when she chose persistence, Natalie.

On this evening, it was Abby to the draw. As the Monks and Stottlemeyers talked about things back in San Francisco, suddenly they heard a cry in the baby monitor on the end table.

"That's Abby." Adrian said, standing up. "She's crying."

"Honey" Natalie said, taking Adrian by the wrist. "Please sit down. You don't have to jump up every time she cries. In fact, it is better that you don't. She will get used to using that as an attention-getter and you'll spoil her."

Adrian sat still for ten whole seconds. "I'm sorry. I can't stand it. I have to go check on her." he said.

"Adrian, really. She's okay. She's just tired." Natalie said. "She will go back to sleep. If she were hurting you could tell it."

"I can't help it. I spent my entire childhood crying out for my parents' love and care. If it spoils her a little, then so be it. I don't want her to feel alone." He said, looking at Natalie with eyes that pleaded for permission to go.

Natalie relented. "Alright. But if you spoil her, don't come complaining to me."

* * *

In the nursery, Adrian walked over to Abby's bassinet and picked her up. She stopped crying immediately and flashed the cutest dimpled smile at Adrian, melting his heart. He felt her diaper and she was dry.

"You just wanted to be held, didn't you?" he said as the baby cooed.

He checked on little Lee who had slept through the entire thing.

"Sleeping sound. You get that from your Mama." Adrian said to his little boy, as he held Abby on his shoulder and straightened one of the toys on the mobile which hung above Lee's head.

Walking towards the window, he gently cradled Abby and softly sang a lullaby song to her as he looked out the window at the moon's reflection off the ocean waves.

_Go to sleepy little baby…Go to sleepy little baby…._

_When you wake, we'll patty patty cake…and ride a shiny little pony_

As Abby drifted back to sleep, he began to think back to the earlier events of the day; and, he could not help but speculate that there had been some sort of an attack offshore.

The fact that there was a cover story led him to believe that the government was involved and that they were deliberately spreading misinformation for one of two reasons. Either, they were still in the middle of the investigation and did not want to compromise the evidence at hand, or, he thought with a sinking feeling in his heart as he looked down at his baby girl, there was a clear and present danger and they did not want the public to panic. In either case, he wanted to know what the actual story was and planned on using his connections at the DOJ in the morning to try and fish out what really happened at sea.


	2. Chapter 2

The turnover in John Stoddard's administration had been typical for a 2nd term Presidency, but an adversarial press had made the most of it that they could. They highlighted rumors of the instability of the administration and spread gossip of disagreements with Presidential direction as much as they could. But, truthfully, people were just tired of the day to day and knew that in order for the administration to remain on its "A" game, they needed fresh blood.

There was a new Department of Defense head, 3 star general, Patrick McCord who had served America well in Desert Storm, Desert Shield and Afghanistan. CIA Director Mike Brisken kept Stoddard up to date in terms of foreign intelligence through his boss, Linda Mason, the Director of National Intelligence. Sharon Grier still was head of the FBI for domestic intelligence. Matt Fitzhugh was the Attorney General, heading up the Department of Justice, and was Grier's boss. Susan Fleming headed up the Department of Homeland Security, and Neil Cole, a former Senator from Ohio, was the Vice President.

For months before the President's Independence Day speech, the group had been working their various channels concerning increased, but non-specific, chatter of imminent attacks upon the homeland. They were only receiving bits and pieces, and the information was so widespread that they were having a difficult time narrowing down targets let alone those responsible for the threats.

When the attack happened on their underwater monitoring station outside of Boston Harbor, focus shifted to foreign entities such as Russia or China, but such focus was reigned back in by the attack the next morning on a National Guard facility near St. Louis. Nobody had claimed responsibility for either attack, but the methods were similar enough that they felt sure that they were connected. In both cases, IED technology was used. In the case of the underwater station, it came in the form of an explosives laden fishing vessel that detonated when it ran directly into the station out near Little Brewster Island. In the case of the National Guard facility, it happened when a rocket-propelled device was launched from a barge on the Mississippi. This development shifted the focus to some sort of domestic terrorism. Who, Why, and Where they would strike next was the most urgent concern that the group had at the time.

"What do you have for me, Fleming?" asked President Stoddard, who was seated in his leather chair communicating over a secure system in the Situation Room.

"We have pulled all video surveillance and satellite imagery from the time in question and I'm afraid our information in inconclusive. At 7:30 AM, Satellite footage shows the barge in position right here on the Mississippi. Three individuals in black clothing and masks are shown removing what was probably the rocket launcher from a large wooden crate, which is here. They set it up, and at 8:15 AM launched the device towards the facility. Detonation was at 8:17 AM. Satellite shows the three individuals then dive off of the barge and swim North, disappearing under the tree-line over here. There is where we lose them." She said.

"So, what is this telling me?" asked Stoddard.

"Sir, we think that we are dealing with some sort of domestic terrorist, perhaps an ex-military, anti-war activist, or maybe one of the anarchist groups that are running around these days. We just don't know." Fleming replied.

"Then you'd better find out. Grier, I want for you to focus your field agents in the St. Louis area. Have them sniff around and see if anyone working around the river saw anything. Also, I want to see where the explosives came from so we can run a trace on who might have purchased illegal weapons." Stoddard said.

"Sir, we have already done that. The rocket launcher is Libyan in origin." Said DoD head, General McCord.

"Libyan? Then are we dealing with Islamic Jihadists?" asked Stoddard.

"Anything is possible at this point, but none of the usual suspects has claimed any responsibility, and we feel that if it was connected with Radical Islam, someone would have spoken up by now." Said McCord.

"But, where would they gotten ahold of this?" asked the President.

"Unfortunately, this is the sort of stuff that terrorist orgs traffic in all the time. After the downfall of Qaddafi, even more so. Who's to say where they got ahold of it. I wouldn't entirely rule Islamicists out, but right now our experts are saying it is unlikely that they are ultimately responsible." Said Fleming.

"Alright. Needless to say, it's all hands on deck. So far, there have been very few civilian casualties. I want to keep it that way. All hands on deck until we find out who is responsible for this and shut them down." Said Stoddard.

"Yes sir." Said General McCord as the rest of the team also showed they were in agreement.

* * *

At the Boston DOJ headquarters, Adrian Monk was a busy man. With his "assistants" still being "temporarily" reassigned to counter-terrorism, he decided to mosey over to their offices to see what it was they were working on. When he entered their area, he was nearly run down by a lower level employee who was rushing to give Rod Simpson a fax that had just arrived.

As Rod took the fax, Adrian walked into the office that Rod shared with Eric and stood just inside the door.

"Looks like something important." Adrian said. "Surprised they still use fax."

Rod looked up from reading, "Hey Monk . It's a special type of fax – highly secure. And yes, it's important."

Adrian said, "Let me guess. It's about the explosions offshore."

Rod looked up at Monk. "Please, shut the door."

Adrian complied with the request and then turned and looked at Rod.

"Take a seat, please." Rod said.

Adrian sat.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Monk. I can't say what it is about. You do not have sufficient access for the data I received. What I can say is that this office is always busy about pursuing leads related to terrorist threats…" said Rod.

"So, it was a terrorist hit." Adrian interrupted.

"Look, Adrian. I can't tell you what it was about. I'm sure you understand. Now, is there some reason that you came down here, or did you just want to say 'hi'?" Rod replied.

"Oh…why I came down. Yes. Since I no longer have my 'assistants' at my disposal and Natalie's home with the babies, I wanted to do a little research on some stuff I'm working on. But, you know me and computers. Do you know someone who might help me?" Adrian asked.

Rod looked down at his desk and found a post-it and scribbled some information down. As he did, Adrian looked down at Rod's desk and at least was able to see that the fax came in from the very top of the Department of Homeland Security, Susan Fleming. Subject line read_: Libyan Arms Sales_.

"Yes. Tai Cheng and Brittany Stone over in IT should be able to help you." Said Rod as he handed him the note. "Here are their numbers."

"Thanks, Rod. And, good luck on whatever it is you're working on. If you decide you can fill me in sometime, I would be very interested." Said Adrian.

"Not my decision, Mr. Monk. That comes from much higher up." Rod said.

"I understand. Have a good day." He replied before leaving the room.

* * *

Back in his office, Adrian tried Tai first but got no answer. So, he called Brittany.

_"Brittany Stone. May I help you_?" she said, answering the phone.

"Yes, Miss Stone. My name is Adrian Monk. I got your number from Rod Simpson over in Counter-Terrorism. He told me that you might be able to get my computer hooked up properly so that I can research the case we're working on. Are you available?" asked Adrian.

"_Yes, Mr. Monk." _She said, looking up Adrian's name in the database. "_I am available right now, if you are." _

"Absolutely." He answered, providing her with directions on how to get to his office.

Ten minutes later, Brittany arrived in the office and was much younger than he expected.

"Mr. Monk?" she asked.

"Yes. And you must be Brittany?" he responded.

"Yes sir. Glad to meet you. Now, I'm assuming that with everything going on, you're going to want things set up the same way as the other folks that Rod has pulled in have. So, I can get you hooked up to the network, and make sure that your email is set up as well to be on blind copy for the department's briefings. Does that sound good?" she asked.

"Sounds great." Adrian said, amazed at how easy this was going.

Brittany walked over to his desk and said "this will take about 10 minutes."

Sitting in his chair, she looked up and saw photographs of Adrian and Natalie, Natalie alone and then a picture of them holding the twins.

"Are those your wife and kids?" she asked.

"Yeah." He replied.

"She's very pretty." Brittany responded. "She's a bit younger than you."

"Yes. But the age difference doesn't really come into play. She's my best friend." He responded.

"That's sweet. How old are the babies?" she asked.

"Four months." He responded.

"Little boy looks like you." She replied.

"So, I've been told. Poor kid." Adrian responded.

"Don't be silly. You're an attractive man. Your wife is lucky." She replied, making him a little nervous.

"Thank you. She, uh, normally works alongside me . But, with the babies being so young, she's taking a little break. But…she comes into the office all the time." He replied, sort of lying because since the babies had been born, Natalie didn't frequent his office very much.

"That's good for you both. This place has a tendency to swallow up marriages. People get married to their work and it edges out the spouse. I'm glad you two can keep it balanced. Balance is important." Brittany responded.

"Yes it is." Adrian said, while thinking "You have no idea."

"Well, there you go. You can see what Rod can see. Hope you guys are able to solve whatever you need to solve People have been real stressed the past couple of days. " she said.

"It's stressful times we're living in." Adrian said. "Thank you for your time."

"No problem. Any time I can help." She replied, leaving his office.

* * *

Adrian sat down at his computer and quickly logged into the system. He wasn't sure what he was looking for at this point, but thought email might be a good place to start. He was right. That morning, a mass communication went out to members of the DOJ staff indicating that 'another suspected terrorist attack' had struck the National Guard in Missouri. It indicated there would be a briefing later that afternoon after leaders had spoken with the President and that schedules should be cleared of any unnecessary meetings for the next week.

"So, it _was_ terrorism. And now, there is a second attack. What on earth is going on?" Adrian said to himself.

He decided he would continue to look for clues. He worked his way through a few more emails and clicked on a link which took him to a folder on the network. Inside the folder, it had several reports talking about Coast Guard activities and observations over the past two months in the area that the explosions occurred in. While there was nothing definitive, fishing vessels were spotted in the area and run off at least three other times before this latest incident.

Shutting down his laptop and disconnecting from the network, he called Natalie and asked her to ask Leland if he and TK would like to join them for an afternoon of 'whale watching' just outside of Boston Harbor. He did not tell her that wanted to visualize the scene of the crime.


	3. Chapter 3

"Whale Watching!?" Natalie said with a mix of shock and suspicion. "Adrian, you do realize that when most people go whale watching, they do so by getting on a boat… and going into the ocean…where there's water."

Adrian stopped for a moment and thought about what she just said. Maybe he hadn't thought this thing through entirely, true. But what other way was he going to be able to see the scene of the crime ,himself?

"Yeah. Of course." He said, trying to sound convincing.

"Adrian, you don't do water. Remember? The Tsunami thing?" she said.

"Natalie, that's so…then. I've had to jump off of a moving boat into freezing water, then I had to fall backwards into the water when I was pretending to be dead. I now know that I _can_ swim. It'll be a piece of cake.

An hour later aboard a speeding boat…

"Why…why..Whyyyyy did I say we should go whale watching?" Adrian whined.

"I don't know. Why?" Natalie asked as Adrian clutched onto her arm.

"You should have stopped me." He said.

"_I should have?"_ Natalie asked.

"Monk, we can always go back." Said Leland.

"Yeah, Adrian. Leland and I are fine just spending time with you all." Said TK  
Adrian paused. "No…no….no….. No sense in that. I'll just have to conquer my fear."

Natalie cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow, then crossed her arms in front of her. "_You_. Conquer your fear? Like you can just will it away? Since when?!"

Leland looked around and puffed out his chest. "Oh, I know since when."

"When's that" Natalie asked.

"Since a certain double explosion a couple of days ago. This is about that case, isn't it?" Leland asked.

"Well…uh…" Adrian said, looking guilty.

"Adrian! You drug us out here so you could snoop around and see what happened on July 4th?" Natalie said with rising anger in her voice.

"Not…n…not _just _ to s…see what happened. I w…wanted to show Leland and TK some of the sights as well." Adrian said to Natalie who was now giving him "the look."

"Natalie, I promise. It'll just be a minute. I need to see. I just _have _to. Then, we can enjoy the rest of the evening doing whatever it is you want to do. Just the four of us, that is if Julie is still okay watching the babies." He said.

"Julie is fine with it. I told her we wouldn't be back until around 10:00 PM anyway." Natalie said. Then, looking out at sea, she grimaced and shook her head. "Whale watching!"

A few moments silence passed, and Adrian spoke up. "Sweetheart. Natalie. Don't be angry."

"I'm not angry. I'm frustrated. You need to stop doing this stuff." She said.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Launching out on your own and not talking to me before-hand. Marriage is a two-way street, you know. I may not be travelling with you right now, but that doesn't mean I don't care about what's going on. Communicate!" she scolded.

Adrian looked down. "I'm sorry. I will try keep you informed and bring you in on the decision making. Do you forgive me?"

Natalie looked over, without smiling. "Yes." Then, she looked back out to sea.

"One more thing." Adrian said.

"What's that?" She asked.

"You're a good swimmer, right?" he said.

"Yeah. I'm okay." She replied.

"If..if this thing capsizes, you'll save me right?" he asked.

Natalie was silent.

"You _will_ save me, _right?_" he asked again.

"I'm thinking." She replied with a look on her face half irritation, half mischievous.

* * *

The boat slowed down and stopped, prompting the driver to say "Well, we're here. Little Brewster Island.

The Island itself was very small with only a few buildings on it including the lighthouse. Pulling up to the dock, the driver helped the two couples get off where they were greeted by a Coast Guard Lieutenant.

"Nobody is supposed to be out here right now. Can I help you folks?" said the man.

Adrian walked forward and flashed his DOJ badge quickly at the Lieutenant.

"Yes, I'm Agent Adrian Monk from the DOJ. I'm here investigating the crime scene and just wanted to look around for a moment."

The Lieutenant looked over at Leland and the ladies, and Adrian said "That's okay. They're with me. This is Police Commissioner Leland Stottlemeyer, and our assistants, TK and Natalie. We'll only be a minute."

"Fine. But just a minute." The Lieutenant said.

"Tell me, Lieutenant…" said Adrian.

"Crawford." Said the man.

"Lieutenant Crawford. Where exactly did the incident take place?" asked Adrian.

"Right over there, by those Rocks. Or so I was told. I wasn't actually on duty." Said Crawford.

"That's okay. And, did the boat actually hit the rocks before it detonated?" asked Adrian.

"Detonated? Agent…who did you say you worked for?" Crawford asked suspiciously.

"DOJ. I'm working closely with the counter-terrorism division." Adrian said.

"Terrorism? This was just a fishing boat that exploded." Said Crawford. "Hit some rocks and the gas went off."

Adrian stopped for a minute. Crawford clearly hadn't been briefed.

Leland couldn't help himself and joined in. "Are the young men who were on duty here?" he asked.

"Sanchez and Turner? No. My understanding is that they were reassigned almost immediately. Funny, they both have worked this post for over a year, then poof, reassigned. Weird how that happened. Hey, I'll give you all ten minutes to look around. But, then you need to leave. Seriously, nobody is supposed to be out here and I could get in trouble for letting you look, even with your credentials. So hurry it along." Crawford replied.

"We will, thank you." Said Natalie.

For the next ten minutes Adrian walked around the edge of the island carefully looking at the rocks of the island itself and then at the Shag Rocks beyond. Using his hands in their familiar zen-like fashion, he stopped at the Island's end and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you see?" asked Leland.

"They said that the boat hit the rocks. We know that isn't true. It hit some sort of monitoring station. But…where is the wreckage? You would think there would be something." He answered.

"Adrian, look. Over here." Natalie said, pointing to something a little further Northeast of the spot he stood on. Walking over, he looked down on the rocks and saw what looked like the blade of a fan or propeller, about the size of his hand. Using his pen, he picked it up and held it up to look at it.

"What is it?" asked TK.

"Looks like a propeller to some sort of underwater robot or drone." Said Adrian.

"So, are you thinking the IED might have been attached to a drone?" asked Leland.

"Yeah. But why? And how did they know the coordinates of where an underwater station existed for our military? Those things aren't easy to track via satellite." Adrian said.

"Good question." Said Leland.

"Are you thinking it could have been an inside job?" asked TK.

"Quite possibly." Adrian said.

"Someone who would have known where to find the station, but also someone who had enough money to pay for a somewhat sophisticated piece of machinery. This wasn't a plastic drone you buy out of a catalog. To carry the amount of explosives that it did, it had to be quite sturdy and of good quality." Stottlemeyer noted.

"You're right." Adrian said. "But who would have the access to that information and why are they doing this? And what about the National Guard Center?"

"Oh no, Mister. I know that look!" said Natalie.

"What?" asked Adrian.

"You promised a work-free night. We went out here to satisfy your wishes, but now you have to let it go for the evening and go enjoy yourself. Come on. Leland and TK are only going to be here a few days. Let's go have some fun." Natalie said.

"Listen to your wife Adrian. The work will be here. Plus, a promise is a promise." Said TK.

"Alright. You win." He said. "I give up for just tonight. Now, if you don't mind, can we get back on the boat and back onto dry land?"

* * *

Later that afternoon, the phone in President Stoddard's office rang. Answering it, he was able to get out a simple greeting "Stoddard speaking." When the next line buzzed in. He requested the first caller to hold while he answered the second call. "Stoddard speaking."

"_Yes Mr. President, I just wanted to let you know that there was reported to be a minor breach of our network system earlier today. Someone was given access to some email and a drive associated with the two different explosions and opened some files regarding fishing vessels recently being intercepted in the area." _ Said DOJ head Fitzhugh.

"Given access? How?" asked Stoddard.

"_New graduate with IT. She misunderstood, or rather assumed, what was needed was the same as some other accounts she had set up that day and set the agent's up the same way._" Fitzhugh replied.

"Do we know who the agent is?" asked Stoddard.

"_Yes. Monk. Adrian Monk. Honestly, it may have been an innocent mistake on both of their parts, but I thought you should know. The girl has been reprimanded and will be setting his system back the way it was before, first thing in the morning_."

"Thanks for letting me know, Fitzhugh. I need to answer another call." Said Stoddard.

"_You're welcome, sir_." Said Fitzhugh, as Stoddard switched to the other line.

"Thanks for waiting." He stated.

"_Yes, President Stoddard. This is Pat McCord. I was just calling to let you know that there were some visitors out at the attack sight near Brewster Island today."_ The voice said.

"Visitors? Whom?" asked Stoddard.

"_DOJ Agent Adrian Monk, San Francisco Commissioner Leland Stottlemeyer, his wife Trudy and Monk's wife Natalie. Monk told our lieutenant that he was out investigating and, well he wasn't authorized by us or by the DHS" said McCord._

"Fine. Thank you. I'll take care of it." sighed Stoddard. "Thanks for letting me kno…"

Just then, the President's door burst open. It was his chief of staff, Paul Franklin.

"Mr. President, just got off the phone with Susan Fleming. Looks like there has been another attack. This time with casualties." Said Franklin.

"Oh no. Where?" asked Stoddard.

"Cannon Office Building." He replied. "We're not sure how it got in there, but went off about 15 minutes ago."

"So they're now attacking Congress?" asked Stoddard.

"Apparently so, Mr. President. We need to get you and the first lady out of here and to a safer place. We have Marine One already warming up, and Vice President and Mrs. Cole have already vacated to their safe spot." Said Franklin. "Please hurry."

"Thank you, Franklin. I appreciate it. "said Stoddard as he moved as quickly as he could towards the White House residence to collect a few things before he and Mrs. Stoddard rushed out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Back on dry land, Natalie used her cell phone to make reservations for evening festivities, making the most of Adrian's promise to do _whatever _she wanted. She planned something for the ladies, and something for the men – or at least for Leland. First,after returning home for a quick change of clothes, they would go into town and take a walk around the public garden, a beautiful spot that she thought TK would enjoy. Next, she planned a nice dinner in town at a recommended restaurant on the Harbor where they could eat fresh seafood and have a lovely view of both the harbor and the city. Finally, she had scored them four tickets for a night game with the Red Socks at Fenway Park.

Adrian was not enthralled with her choices, but held his peace until after they got back to the city.

When the Stottlemeyers were out of earshot at the botanical gardens, Adrian complained.

"A Ballgame? You know I don't like ballgames! There are crowds, and smells and…" Adrian said.

"Adrian, you told me _anything_ I want to do." Said Natalie.

"Well, when I said anything, maybe I didn't mean exactly _anything_." He said.

"Listen, I do things that I don't want with you all the time." She responded.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like all the times when I took you to the store and did your shopping for you" she replied.

"Well, I paid you to do those things." He said.

"And, sometimes I actually _paid_ for those groceries." She replied.

"I reimbursed you." He said.

"Not always. And what about the time where I pushed your wheelchair up a steep hill _twice_ because you just had to do things in the order you wanted them done." she said.

"You mean when you were pushing my wheelchair because you SHOT me? I seriously can't believe you're going there." He said.

"Oh, yeah. Well, uh, what about the time where we waited outside the bookstore overnight in the cold to go see that Christine Rapp woman who you were obsessed with in the Cooper Clan?" she said. "Do you think that was fun for me?"

"I wasn't obsessed." he replied.

"Were too." Natalie said.

"Was not." he replied.

"Were too." she answered. "Adrian, you practically fell all over yourself when you got a chance to be her bodyguard - that is until she turned out to be a cold blooded murderer!"

"Alright,fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed. But, what about the time that you made me go out in the Marina and told me to 'leap and a net will appear' and I almost drowned? You make me do things I don't want to do just as much. " he countered.

She was quiet for a moment. It was true, she was often able to get him to do things that he didn't want to do, and she had told herself that it was good for him – but it hadn't always been. Still, she didn't want to lose this argument, so she chose to deflect.

"So you're telling me that Leland and TK can come into town and you don't want to do this little thing that he might enjoy? After everything Leland has done for you and the many times he saved your life?" she said.

Adrian stopped and thought. Yes, Leland had been a very good and faithful friend, patient with Adrian's quirks and always there for him.

"Alright. We'll go. But, what was all this stuff about marriage being a two-way street and having to keep each other informed about decisions?" he said.

Zing! He was right again. How Natalie loathed to be in this situation.

"You're right. Okay, you're right. You happy now?" she said.

"I'd be happier if I thought you were happy." he stated. "What's really going on?"

Truth is, Natalie herself didn't know, and didn't know what to say.

"I don't know. I'm just tired I guess." She said.

He thought for a second, not sure she was being truthful, but not wanting to challenge. "That's understandable. You're still getting back into the swing of things, and you've been through a lot…Come here." He said, wrapping his arms around her for a hug.

"I apologize for complaining. It's not like me." He said.

Natalie tried to stifle a laugh, but failed.

"What? What now?" he asked.

"Nothing, honey Apology accepted." She said, taking him by the hand as they joined the Stottlemeyers on their stroll through the garden.

* * *

Meanwhile, at an undisclosed location, President Stoddard sat with various cabinet heads listening to status reports and viewing news accounts which were just now picking up the latest information on the Cannon Office Building. He had tried to keep this out of the public eye so that his team could go about their investigation unhindered, but now that the press had the story there was no pulling it back.

_DC Police say that the IED that went off inside the Cannon Office Building appears to have been made of chemicals derived from a common household cleaner, and the actual device was believed to have been stored in a garbage can inside the lobby of the building. It was detonated during a scheduled fire-drill in which people were filing out to the parking lot through the lobby. 5 people were killed, and 15 people injured in the blast, 3 of them seriously. The death count is expected to rise. _

_Authorities say to be on the lookout for anything suspicious and to report any unusual activity to their emergency hotline at 202-555-3578. Back to you, Tim._

"I can't believe this. Most powerful country in the world with some of the greatest intelligence around, and some guy can walk right into the office building for the House of Representatives and pull off a stunt like this?" said Stoddard.

"Had to be someone from the cleaning crew, sir. Or perhaps the delivery guy." Said Fleming.

"You actually want me to believe that someone from the cleaning crew did this? Are you serious? And who did the explosion in Missouri? The exterminator? And what about in Boston Harbor? No. This is someone bigger than just some delivery guy. Someone with access. Multiple locations. Impossible to pinpoint. Someone with clout. Team, I want you to shut down all chatter within your organizations. Nobody speaks of this unless it is done over secure channels. Anyone violating that condition, I want them reported to me immediately. Do you understand?" said Stoddard.

"Yes sir!" they said somewhat in unison.

"Now, I'm leaving Gloria here but I have to at least make an appearance in order to assure the public that all is well." Said Stoddard.

"I wouldn't advise that sir." Said Brad Goins, head of the Secret Service.

"Goins, I normally take what you advise quite seriously. But I have to go against that right now. We will keep it short and sweet. I'll give a briefing to the press and sign an executive order authorizing the FBI Director Grier to have full access over everything. We can't let the public know that this is terrorism or that we don't yet know who is doing it. For all they know, it is a disgruntled employee of the Cannon staff who decided to make things nasty. The press hasn't connected it with the two other events. I want it kept that way. We can be back by 2100 hours tonight. You just do your best to protect me and I'll do my best to stay under your watch care." Stoddard said.

"Yes sir." Goins replied, immediately walking over to call in his top agents for the task.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenway Park was every bit as miserable of an experience as Monk had anticipated. The crowd was loud and sweaty, enclosed within the stadium on a hot July evening. To the front of him and to the back of him were people who had imbibed far too much beer and were belligerently yelling at the umpires, the players, or anyone else that didn't strike their fancy. And to top it all off, there were three lights that were out in the scoreboard that created a blank spot distorting every word and image that used that section of the board.

"Come on! Rodriguez! You can do better than that!" one of the fans around him yelled.

"What-are-ya blind or somethin' Just hit the dang ball!" yelled another.

A portrait of the batter appeared on the screen overlapping the offending section of screen - The image of his smile being affected by the broken lights.

"Awe this is just awful! Terrible!" said Adrian.

Leland looked up at Adrian. "Gee, Monk. I didn't realize you had gotten so much into baseball."

Adrian looked at Leland. "Huh? What? Oh. No. It's not that. Look at the screen. It makes him look like he's missing teeth."

Suddenly, the crowd gasped and stood up. The Monks and Stottlemeyers did as well. The pitcher had thrown a wild pitch hitting Rodriguez in the face. The batting coach, head coach and several players all stood around him. Within a minute, he was helped up to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Looks like it was prophetic." Said Leland. As the player waved to a cheering crowd and exited the field.

"Leland, honey, I'm getting thirsty. Would you mind going and getting me a soda?" TK asked.

"Me too." Said Natalie.

Leland looked over at Monk. "Want to go with me, and get out of these seats?"

"I thought you would never ask." Said Adrian.

* * *

As the two men stood at the concession stand, Adrian watched a news report featuring President John Stoddard who was discussing the attack at the office building earlier that day.

"Hey Leland. It's happened again." Adrian said softly.

Leland walked over and listened to the President.

_And so, I have assigned FBI Director Grier the task at investigating what we believe is an isolated incident at this time, and will, with this executive order, give her full authority to bring in anyone who might be considered suspect with this crime. I will not be taking any questions, but will keep you informed as the situation develops._

Leland looked at Monk. "That doesn't sound right. Sounds like they are covering up something."

"You see what I mean now?" asked Adrian.

_[Anchorwoman] That, ladies and gentleman was President John Stoddard from the Press Room fifteen minutes ago, who contrary to earlier reports is blaming this event on a possible disgruntled employee of the Congressional office building. _

_Right now, let's talk with our local law enforcement expert, former police chief Adam Nader. Mr. Nader, welcome to the program. Now, Mr. Nader, one would have thought that congressional office buildings of all things would have had the highest level of security possible. Is that not true?_

_[Nader] Well Shelby, generally speaking that is true. But no system is absolutely fool proof, and if the individual worked within the confines of the building itself, they may have known its vulnerabilities – places that something like an IED could be created. It would be unusual, but certainly not impossible._

_[Shelby] Mr. Nader, would this person have had to have had a great amount of technical know-how in order to create one of these…Wait. Just a moment. I'm sorry sir, but we are getting word that there has been another explosion, this one along a Presidential Motorcade near Highway 395 in Arlington. It is not known at this time where President Stoddard was heading, but … what is this? We are hearing unconfirmed reports that the President may have been seriously injured. We're trying to nail down the facts in this very serious development and will keep you up to date when more information is known. _

"Oh dear, Heavens!" Adrian said. "John."

'Holy crap." Said Stottlemeyer. "What do you want to do?"

"Truthfully, Leland. I don't want to stay here." Adrian said. "My gut wants to go back into work, but I promised Natalie I would stay."

"Not much you can do right now. Not much is known." Said Leland.

"True. " Adrian said.

"Why don't we go collect the women and head back to home. Maybe we can come up with a game plan from there." Leland asked.

"We?" asked Adrian.

Leland rolled his eyes. "Yes, we, Monk. Where we go one, we go all."

"What?" asked Adrian.

"I heard that in a movie or somewhere. I'm just as interested in all of this as you are. TK and Natalie may be less than enthralled, but I don't think either one of us is going to rest until we get some resolution on this case. I can use my connections in San Francisco to dig through the networks they have access to, and you can look through your own networks. Divide and conquer."

"Sounds like a plan." Said Adrian, as both men headed back to the seats empty handed and let the ladies know what happened, and that they wanted to call it an early evening since neither of their minds was on the ballgame any longer. Due to an eerie feeling that swept over them when they heard of what had happened to the President's motorcade, both women put up no argument but gathered their things as they left the stadium, picked up the babies from Julie's, and went home.

* * *

Like a pack of jackals, the Press would soon descend upon every agency and each agency head looking for information, looking for the scoop. Adrian and Leland realized this eventuality more and more as they watched the news broadcast that evening and told the women that they were going to head into town to check on Monk's network to see what they might find out. It was a good thing they did.

From Adrian's email, they were able to pick up on a little information, namely, that an IED had been planted along the President's route and that they had begun to narrow down the search to a particular anarchist group with branches all along the East Coast. They were trying to see who among the group might also have connections within the agencies to have gotten the necessary access to know things like the President's route. The email was silent on the condition of the President, but only told those to whom it was addressed to 'soldier on.'

"Soldier on." Said Adrian with a smile. "That's something my mother-in-law says all the time."

"Things working out with Peggy and Bobby?" Asked Leland.

"They are okay. She's able to help Natalie with the babies, so that's good. I still feel like I don't really measure up in their eyes though." Adrian said.

"You may be misreading that." Said Leland. "I know for a fact that Peggy Davenport was actually bragging to some of her friends who are related to Briggs, that her son in law is the famous detective, Adrian Monk. She might be just a little uncomfortable with you because you tend to only let certain people in."

"With good reason." Said Adrian.

"True. But, give it time with the Mom-in-Law and Pop-in-Law. I think things will work out fine." Said Leland.

"You're probably right. Hey, I'm going to print a few things off and take them home with me to study tonight." Said Adrian.

"You supposed to be doing that?" asked Leland.

"I..I don't know. Nobody ever said I couldn't." said Monk.

"Okay. I hope you know what you're doing." Said Leland.

"You should know by now." Adrian said, as he hit print. "I always know what I'm doing. Even when I don't."

"So true." Leland said as he waited for the print job to finish and Adrian shut things down to head home for the evening.

As they turned off the lights in the office, he did not realize that the entire print job had not completed due to a paper jam. This would have to be discovered by DOJ personnel early the next morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Due to the late hour at which he went to bed, Adrian got a late start in the morning, in fact, he slept so soundly that Natalie had to get up when Lee was crying in the middle of the night. She didn't mind though. He had generally been a thoughtful, if highly overprotective, father and a helpful husband throughout this time - much more so than she would have expected him to be. Nevertheless, by 9:00 AM, she figured he would probably have some meetings or something to attend at work, so she crawled across the covers and gently shook him awake.

"Adrian, honey. Wake up. You've overslept." She said.

Through drowsy eyes that were still a bit blurry upon waking, he looked up at her and smiled. She looked like a dream as the morning sun softly highlighted her delicate features.

"Good morning, beautiful. Can I go back to sleep?" he asked.

"Go back to sleep? Why don't you feel good?" she said, reaching out her hand and touching his forehead to feel if it was warm.

"I feel fine. I just want to experience waking up and seeing your beautiful face again." He said smiling, and then drew her in for a very romantic kiss.

After a few seconds she pulled away. "Work! You have to go to work!" she said, as she got out of bed and put on her robe.

"Yeah, yeah. Work, schmirk. Story of my life." He said, sitting up and finding his slippers.

"I'll go make you some breakfast while you take a shower." She said.

"Do I stink?" he asked.

"Uh, no. You always take a shower first thing in the morning. Stop stalling and get busy!" she said, leaving the room.

.

Adrian stood up and walked over to the bathroom and looked at his stubble covered face in the mirror. He wanted to shave his face clean, but Natalie liked the mustache so he would keep it. As he looked at his face in the mirror, he noticed how it was changing. No longer did he have the haunted sort of look that was always just under the surface after Trudy's murder. Rather, laugh lines were beginning to appear on his cheeks and along his nose. This was a good thing – a very good thing, he surmised. Marriage and fatherhood had been very good to him, and he wanted to keep them that way.

.

Following the shower, he got dressed and headed down to the kitchen where Natalie, Leland, and TK were all standing around watching the television. Word came through that President Stoddard had been injured but was still in command of the country, and that Vice President Cole was safe. Nobody had seen either gentleman though, so the rumor mill was still in full force. The "cop" side of both Leland and Adrian kicked in as they listened intently for any bit of evidence that might slip out during the news reports. Nothing of note.

After breakfast, Adrian stood up to leave for work, hugging Natalie and telling Leland and TK that he would be back early that afternoon. With their friends in town, his mother-in-law Peggy had taken the opportunity to fly back to California to be with Bobby for a week, but she was expected to return when Leland and TK went back home. Having her gone was both a relief and strangely uncomfortable at the same time. It was good not to have her curious eyes looking over and commenting on every aspect of their lives, but it was also good watching her and Natalie reconnect and watching her as she lived out the role of Grandma to the Monks two children.

Picking up the papers he had printed off at the office the night before, he kissed Natalie and headed towards the door.

"Now remember, we're going to have dinner with Leland, TK, Travis and Julie tonight. I'm making a crown roast. So, don't get caught up in what you're doing and come home late." Natalie said.

"I won't. I'll be home before 5 o'clock." He said, kissing her one more time.

"Be safe." She said.

"Me? When have you ever known me to be anything else?" he asked, jokingly.

Natalie threw him 'the look.'

"Love you." He said with a smile before shutting the door.

"Love you too." She said just after the door clicked shut.

* * *

As he drove into work, his mind was on what he printed off the previous evening. The information had been very informative about the traffic along the Mississippi in the days prior to the attack, and there was a definite pattern between what went on there and what went on in Boston harbor. But what of the Office Building? And what of the Motorcade? The only thing that he could think of is that the person who did it had to have a very high, almost an unheard of, amount of access that even someone second in command to the President would not just 'automatically' have. For example, Presidential movements, the placement of monitoring stations, and the timing of fire drills - that was all sensitive stuff and would be handled by different agencies. This made it all very difficult. Who? Why? What's next? Were still, as they originally were, the questions.

* * *

Adrian parked his car outside the courthouse and went in through the main entrance, taking the escalator up to his floor and walking into his office. On his desk were crumpled up papers, taken from the printer from the night before, and a note. "Please see me ASAP, Rod."

Ignoring the note for a moment, Adrian signed onto his computer only to find out that he no longer had access to the network drive or email system.

"What the…?" he thought. Picking up his phone, he called Brittany's number to see if she could return to the office and fix the computer again.

"Um, about that." She said over the receiver. "I sorta made a mistake when I gave you access to those things. You weren't supposed to be on that network."

"But, I need it for my research. Are you sure you can't come back up and hook it back up?" he asked.

"No. I got in trouble for doing it. I'm sorry. If you have any questions, you can call my superior, Tai Cheng. If you need anything else though... please…call me." She said, lowering her voice into a sexy whisper.

Adrian cringed his neck and shut his eyes, then put his hand over his face. It dawned on him that the young woman had a bit of a crush on him, and he was flattered, but – he was old enough definitely to be her father, and he suspected, technically old enough to be her grandfather – so the fact that he was a happily married man aside, the whole idea creeped him out. Looks like he would be dealing with Cheng from here on out.

"Thank you for your help, Brittany. I appreciate it." He said curtly.

"Any time, Mr. Monk. Any time at all." She said as he hung up.

* * *

After hanging up the phone, Adrian reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a packet of wipes. Removing one wipe, he cleaned off his hands and then wiped out the inside of his ears before running the wipe straight across his face as if to remove any sign of unsavoriness from the last conversation from his person before he could continue. Pulling out another wipe, he wiped down his phone and then threw both wipes away.

Picking up his phone, he called Rod.

Rod saw from his caller ID who was calling, picked up the phone and simply said.

"Not on the phone. In person, and in Zinn's conference room. Now." He said.

This unnerved Adrian since he naturally felt like Rod worked for him, though technically he worked for Zinn. He clearly was upset about something, but Adrian still didn't understand why. As he walked into Zinn's conference room, he quickly discovered that Rod wasn't the only one with the strangely hostile demeanor.

Sitting around the round table were Zinn, Rod Simpson, Eric Gaston, and Tai Cheng.

"Shut the door and take a seat." Zinn ordered.

Adrian complied, and took a seat opposite Zinn at the conference room table.

"W-what's this about?" he asked innocently.

"You printed off papers last night." Said Rod.

"Yes. I did." Adrian stated.

"Sensitive papers." Said Gaston.

"Not that I could see." Said Adrian. "It was just about some traffic…"

"STOP!" said Zinn. "I do not want you talking about what they were about. Bottom line is due to a mistake by one of our junior employees, you received access to data that you were not supposed to see. Now, it is my understanding that you're doing some sort of investigation on some matter on your own?"

"Yes, I'm looking at the…" Adrian said.

"STOP!" said Zinn. "You are looking at nothing. As of this moment, you're not to look at a thing, you're not to talk about a thing to ANYONE! You are to forget everything that you ever saw. Do I make myself clear?" Zinn asked.

Adrian replied. "I'm afraid that's not possible, sir. I…I have a photographic memory, and I forget nothing. And, once I am on the trail of something…well, it's just not possible."

"I see. Then, I'll have to suspend you from your position until the case is over." Said Zinn.

"What? Why? What did I do?" asked Adrian.

"Simpson, please escort Mr. Monk to his office to collect his things, and then make sure that he is escorted out of this facility. Monk, you are to hand in your badge and you will not get it back until the suspension is over. Is that clear?" Zinn said looking at Adrian.

Adrian looked at Zinn and then at Rod. It was clear that he wasn't interested in listening to Adrian's side of the story. "Fine. Let's go." Adrian said to Rod, walking towards the door.

"Monk. Before you go, please know you are being watched. Leave the case alone. Let us handle it." Said Zinn.

"See you around." Adrian responded angrily before leaving the room.

* * *

Adrian collected the photographs and the few items that he had brought to the office and put them in a box before being walked to the door. It was rather embarrassing, since most people looking at him thought he had been fired for some serious violation of DOJ policy. As to Zinn's threat that he was being watched, he thought, "let them watch." He had nothing to hide, and from what he could see things were only getting worse and not better having the agencies be the lone sources for investigation. No, this was a case where he really felt like he could truly be a service to his President and country, so he wasn't about to let any bureaucratic technicalities stand in his way.

With this in mind, rather than go home, he decided he would run down to the local newsroom and see if there might be any photographs or raw footage that they might have in the media pool from the Presidential motorcade incident. He was smart enough to do this under some sort of cover, pretending to be a journalist from San Francisco who was visiting town, had heard the story on the news, and being familiar with journalism knew that the local station would have access to the press pool of photos. Being busy in other matters, the station bought the story and allowed him to sit in a room with a computer hooked up to the media depository for the AP Press pool.

As he leafed through the photos on the computer, he held his hand up to the screen looking for any sign of a clue anywhere near the scene. The President's armored vehicle had been removed from the scene, with him in it, but in its place was various pieces of shrapnel and debris. Using the magnifier on the high resolution photographs, he zoomed in to an area next to the curve where he saw some pieces of metal that had writing on them. Zooming in closer, he used the Snipping tool from the computer to capture the item and printed it from the local printer. Looking at it closely, he could see that it was covered in Arabic.

الجماهيرية العربية الليبية الشعبية الاشتراكية

He took the paper and folded it neatly in his hand and then closed down the Snipping tool and logged out of the system, careful to erase any search record that he had created – a technique he learned from back in the latter months of his work with the San Francisco PD.

* * *

Thanking the News corporation for their help, he walked down the street towards the parking lot and towards his car. As he walked, he phoned Natalie to let her know that he was coming home earlier than planned.

"Hello?" Natalie said, out of breath.

"Hi sweetheart, this is your husband." He said.

"I know who you are." She said with a smile.

"Listen, I was just leaving Channel 10 News and…" he said.

"That's nice honey. I'm so glad you called!" Natalie said, with excitement in her voice. "You have to hear this!"

"Natalie? What? Natalie? Hello?" he said, as he walked.

"Honey, I'm putting you on Speaker. Leland and TK are here as well." She said. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." he answered.

"Alright." Said Natalie. "Leelee. Say it again." She said in soft baby talk. "Say what you said to mommy. Can you say...?"

After a few seconds, Adrian heard distinct as could be a very clear baby voice saying "Dadadadadada"

Natalie squealed in delight. "Yes! That's right! Your daddy is on the phone! Honey, did you hear that?"

Adrian was speechless and even forgot what he had called for, for a moment. "He said ... Dada!... I heard it, he said Dada!"

"Oh, honey. I'm so glad you got to hear that!" Natalie said. "No doubt about it! This is Adrian Monk's son! Talking at 4 months old! Well, I guess we can see where I rank!" she said, knowing that research has indicated that most babies do say Dada before they say Mama since due to the inseparable nature of the early bond with their mothers, the father is generally the first person that a baby identifies as being separate from himself.

"Great job, Monk! Training that kid to identify with us guys first!" said Leland, as he watched his namesake kicking his feet in his floor seat next to his sister who was cooing at TK.

"That's…amazing!" he said, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. "Absolutely amazing!"

"Amazing is a good word for it." she said. "Now, what's up?"

"Huh?" he asked.

"Did you call for something?" she asked.

"Oh…oh yeah. I just wanted to let you know that I'm coming home a little early." He said.

"Oh, okay. Anything wrong?" she asked.

"No. Not really... Well, sorta, but they'll get over it. Zinn got all bent out of shape today because they found out I had accessed some stuff about the crime scenes for the explosions and…" Adrian said.

Just then, a door opened to an SUV and two large muscular men jumped out.

Adrian stopped mid-sentence and spun around.

"And what?" Natalie asked.

"And…" Adrian said, turning quickly to walk towards his car. "And, I've got to go." He said, fishing for his car keys, but not hanging up his phone.

"Adrian?...Adrian?" Natalie said, with fear in her voice.

There was no answer. All they could hear was his feet picking up pace on the pavement and footsteps following close behind. As they heard him fumbling for his car keys, Leland yelled "Monk! Can you hear us? What's going on buddy?"

Next they heard Adrian say. "Who are you? What do you want?" and the sound of car keys dropping to the ground.

"You're coming with us." A male voice said, as they heard a car motor pull up nearby.

Next they heard the rustling of bodies and the shuffling and dragging of feet. The cell phone fell to the ground.

"Where are you taking me? Whuh-why are you blindfolding me?" Adrian said with alarm.

"Shut up and get in!" said the voice.

"Natalie! Natalie" he said, with the last word being muffled.

"Adrian!" Natalie yelled. "Adrian, say something!" she said as they heard a door shut and the screeching of tires speeding away on the hot asphalt followed by a sickening silence.

* * *

Natalie looked over to Leland, who had an equally horrified look on his face, and then went into full panic mode.  
"We've got to go! Someone has him! We've got to get out of here! Where are the car keys? Keys! Keys! Help me find the #$ # keys!" Natalie said.

"Natalie! Calm…calm down!" Leland said. "You can't go like this. I'll go. You need to stay with the babies."

"I can't stay here! They have Adrian! Leland, THEY HAVE ADRIAN!" she said, grabbing him by the arms and beginning to hyperventilate.

"I'll stay." Said TK. "I'll watch the babies."

"Alright, fine. Get your shoes on and lets go." Leland answered.

* * *

In the car, Leland turned to Natalie and asked where Adrian's work was.

"It's along the Harbor, but that's not where he was. He stated he was just leaving Channel 10 News. That's on Arbor street. I'll show you how to get there." She stated.

Arriving at the station, they took out on foot and walked from the station down the sidewalk, spotting Monk's car in the parking lot. His car keys were still lying on the ground and his cell phone rested against a curve a few feet away. A few feet away from that, was his shoe.

"Definite signs of a struggle." Leland stated as he looked along the lot. "Tire marks here say that they turned right. We need to call this in."

Picking up his shoe, Natalie felt weak and afraid. She put her hand up to her head and began to cry. Looking around, she saw something on Adrian's windshield. Walking over to it, she picked it up.

"Leland?" She said.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

"It's...I think it's a note." she said, taking it out of an envelope and unfolding it.

As Leland stood over her shoulder she read.

_Dear Mrs. Monk, Please do not contact the authorities. Your husband is safe and will be kept so. Do not worry. We will be in touch._

"Unsigned." Said Leland, putting his arm on Natalie's shoulder. "What has he gotten himself into now?"

"What does this mean? Leland, I am frightened." She stated. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, we can't call the President. He's a little indisposed right now. And, we can't call the authorities. I say, we go back to the house and think it through." Leland said.

"But… I have to know he is okay." She said.

"Natalie, they said he would be kept safe, and right now we have nothing to indicate that they aren't telling the truth. If they wanted to hurt him, they could have easily done so. Not sure what they do want from him, but right now I suggest we go home and try not to worry while we wait for their call." Leland stated.

Natalie said nothing, but lowered her head and climbed back into the passenger side of Leland's car. It was all she could do to stay calm. Everything within her was a rattled nervous mess. She was sick to her stomach and shaky. Adrian's car would have to be picked up later. For now, she would not rest until she heard his voice again and knew, in fact, that he was okay.


	7. Chapter 7

Adrian laid as quiet as a mouse on a cot in a dark room, his head pounding from over-medication and his recollection of what happened over the past 9 hours a blur. He vaguely recalled being snatched from the parking lot near Channel 10 news, struggling against his captors and then feeling a jab in his rear upper thigh. After that, all he recalled was the sound of muffled voices and helicopter blades. With blindfold removed, he had no idea where he was, what time it was, or what the people who had taken him wanted from him. Was it daytime? Or was it night? Was he still in Boston? He didn't think so. Was he in danger? He wasn't sure. Taking all of this into account, it was understandable why he felt uneasy and afraid.

After about twenty minutes of allowing his thoughts to run rampant, he decided to call out for help. He didn't think anyone would hear him, and if they did, they not might be the people he wanted to hear him; but, it felt like he was doing _something. _

After a few seconds of this, the door opened, and in stepped a man in a white lab coat about 45 years old.

"Ah, you're awake." He stated, walking up to Adrian and checking his pulse. "You gave us a scare. The sedative we gave you was only supposed to knock you out for about a half-hour until we could transfer you to the helicopter. But, you've been out for 9 hours. Your metabolism must really not like drugs."

Adrian didn't know what to say. He had been asleep 9 hours? This made it nighttime.

"Where am I?" asked Adrian said, squinting and holding his temple as he looked up at the man's form against the ceiling light.

"You are at an 'undisclosed location.'" Said the man. "My name is Dr. Frank Steele. I am assistant to the President's personal physician, and have been told to look after you to make sure that you're okay. Looks like you have a headache. I can give you something for that. Are you allergic to Ibuprofen?"

"No. I'm not... You work for the President?" asked Adrian.

"Yes. President Stoddard. It is at his request that you have been brought here. I'm going to let you rest for a little bit while I go get the medicine, and then we'll go see if he is still up." Said Steele.

"I…um…do you have a phone? I need to call my wife and let her know I'm okay." Adrian asked.

"Sorry. No outgoing phone calls. My understanding is that your wife knows you are safe. That's all she needs to know for now. I'll be back." He answered, leaving the room.

The President? Undisclosed location? Why him?

Before he could delve too deeply into that line of thought, his door opened again. He looked up, and there standing with her slender frame in a form fitting tailored suit and heels was the Director of the FBI. Backing up to the door to shut it behind her, she slinked over beside him. "Adrian! I was so happy to hear you were awake!" she said.

"Hello, Sharon. I should have known you would be here." He said.

As she sat down on the cot beside him, she put her hand on his leg. "Yeah, well, the President has put me in charge of all of this. Sounds like you've been a very bad boy."

"I don't know what you mean." He said, moving her hand off of his leg and back to the cot.

"You've been delving into areas that you aren't allowed to delve into, getting into systems you shouldn't. Adrian, you know better than that!"

"I was checking out something that I saw. That's all." He said.

"You saw the attack on the National Guard? And the Attack on the Presidential Motorcade? Come on, Monk. Who are you trying to kid? "she said. But then scooting closer to him to the point that her suit sleeve touched his sleeve, she crossed her stocking-covered legs and let her knee touch his leg. "But don't worry. I have put in a good word for you with the President and told him that an intellect like yours is _exactly_ the type that I need on my team." Touching his sleeve with her hand. "Isn't that wonderful! We get to work together again!"

Adrian stood, stumbling slightly, being lightheaded from the medicine. "I believe I get a say in this, don't I, Sharon?"

"But of course." She said.

"Then, I will save my comments for when I talk with John. Until then, my head is splitting and I'm waiting on Dr. Steele, so if you don't mind…" he said.

Grier tightened her jaw and let her lips fall into a serpentine smile. "Certainly. I just wanted to stop in and welcome you to our compound. You should be able to see the President soon."

"Fine. Good evening." He said, turning his back to her as she left the room.

His experience with Sharon Grier was that she liked to play seductress where he was concerned. He wasn't even remotely interested in her, but even if he had been, his loyalty to Natalie trumped all. Still, the last thing he wanted was to be away from his wife and word get back to her that he somehow was going to be linked up with Sharon Grier. He had seen the green-eyed-monster take over his normally steady soul-mate when Grier had made overtures towards him back in Washington D.C. With him being taken as abruptly as he had been, he knew that Natalie was probably already an emotional wreck. He needed to talk with John to try to 'fix' the situation before things went from bad to worse.

* * *

In Swampscott, Leland and TK were not having a good time. Instead of relaxing near the beach and catching up, they were trying to comfort crying babies and their crying mama.

"Natalie, he's okay. Listen, the note says he is okay." Said Leland.

"How do I know who the note is from? How do we know anything? Leland. If this were good guys, why would they have kidnapped him?" she asked, pacing the floor.

"I…I don't know. He's in the political world now and …well, a lot of weird things are going on." Leland said.

"Maybe they are taking him to the President." TK suggested. "They would want to keep that sort of thing quiet."

"Quiet, yes. But that implies they can't trust Adrian. John Stoddard knows he can trust Adrian." She said. "No. It's terrorists."

"Oh, good grief. Natalie, there is nothing to indicate this is terrorists. Why would terrorists want Monk?" Leland reasoned.

"Because, he works for the DOJ." Said Natalie.

"And so, do thousands of other people. Besides, Monk's position is not high profile enough to warrant anyone wanting to kidnap him. Frankly, it seems he was in more danger when he worked in San Francisco." Leland said.

Natalie would not be dissuaded. She just knew something horrible had happened. It was the shock of his cries as he was put into the car that drove her there, and the sheer adrenaline that it had produced in her body. Like a caged cat, she was desperate to get to him, wherever he was, but there was something new in her psyche as well – something affecting her far more than she realized that she would soon have to confront – that _they _ would soon have to confront.

* * *

Adrian was led through dark grey corridors and then through three sets of high security doors, each guarded by Secret Service agents, until he reached Stoddard's hideout. Walking through the doors, he entered a dimly lighted office with black walls and computer monitors all along the ceiling. John Stoddard was seated at his desk with his arm up under his jacket in a sling and a bandage on his forehead. Worry etched his face, making him look ten years older. Clearly, recent days had taken their toll on him.

He looked up, only for a moment and then back down.

"Good evening, cousin." Was all he said.

"Good evening, John. I'm glad to see you are okay." Adrian said.

"Am I?" he asked.

Adrian was silent, not knowing how or if he should reply.

After about a minute, Stoddard looked up at him.

"I'm sorry that they had to bring you in on this the way they did. Unfortunately, you did not leave us any choice." He said. "Adrian, you can't just go digging wherever you please. It doesn't work that way around here. We have teams. They have their own assignments. You're not a consultant in San Francisco anymore. You can't just pick and choose."

"Those teams are getting nowhere while people die, sir." Adrian said.

Stoddard stopped and looked at Monk. "Not nowhere." He stood, and walked over to the opposite side of his desk and motioned for Monk to sit. He then told his secret service to wait outside.

"Adrian, what I'm going to tell you is some of the most sensitive information that we know. It is not to leave this room. You can't even tell Natalie." He said.

"Then, I don't want to know." Said Adrian.

"Neither do I, but I get to know - and so do you. Just realize that if you slip up and let this out, your time with Natalie and those babies of yours will be spent in prison visits. Do you understand?" John said.

"I understand." Adrian said. "What is it?"

Stoddard stood and walked over to his desk. Pressing a couple of buttons on a keypad, he brought up a presentation. Going to the second page, he saw a map of the United States outlining 10 cities from coast to coast. Boston, D.C. and St. Louis were already highlighted with red stars. And there were yellow stars on New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Chicago, Orlando, and Port Arthur, Texas.

"This. Ten Cities. Ten Targets. Three of them already checked off. Seven to go. This – is what our teams were getting nowhere on, as you say, while people died." Stoddard said as he sat on his desk looking between Adrian and the Screens.

"The MO is the same. Some sort of explosive device set at some location using some form of sensitive information. The weaponry used is wide-ranging and fit for its own purpose. Some of it is domestic, some of it is foreign. The image that you somehow obtained from the TV station (that we took off of your person on the helicopter) for instance – that Arabic inscription, it was a stamp indicating that the piece had been made in Libya. Specifically it was the Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya- the government of Muammar Qaddafi. Most likely sold to Western Sources after the Libyan Revolution in 2011." He said.

"Qaddafi's arms? Being used in America?" asked Adrian.

"Yes. These conflicts can often have repercussions that are quite far reaching and unpredictable. Who would have thought our arch enemy's demise would result in his weaponry being a threat to us anyway?" Stoddard said.

"Any idea who is responsible?" asked Adrian.

"No. Only that they have some very high level sources of information. And, this is where you come in. " Stoddard said, standing now in front of Monk. "We are going to overlook your security breach. We are also going to overlook your insubordination towards your Superior." John said.

"My insubord…"Adrian began.

"Yes. Insubordination, bordering on disciplinary action and even jail time – though I personally believe it was an innocent comedy of errors on both your and the IT woman Brittany's behalf. Instead, I'm removing you from the command of John Zinn." Stoddard said.

"I'm being demoted?" asked Adrian.

"Not at all. I am moving you elsewhere within the Department of Justice and putting you under Sharon Grier. You will be her Associate Deputy Director – third in line of succession in the FBI, second to Deputy Director Garrison Kennedy. Your assignment begins immediately." Stoddard said.

"Mr. President…" Adrian said.

"John." Stoddard corrected.

"John…Here's the thing. I…I would rather not." Adrian said.

"Oh?" asked Stoddard. "And why not?"

"Well…sir, it's Grier. And Natalie. You see…" Adrian started.

"Adrian. You seriously don't expect me to rearrange seats in matters of national security in order to pacify jealous wives? I don't even do that for my own wife." Said John.

"Well…with all due respect sir, your relationship with Gloria is a bit different than mine with Natalie. I love my wife and don't want to hurt her in any way or put a wedge in our relationship. We've fought too hard to get where we are." Monk said.

"And, I'm glad you have that relationship. But, this is a matter of national security. The wheels are already in place." Said Stoddard.

"What do you mean?" asked Adrian.

"Grier has already issued the press release saying that you will be her new Associate Deputy Director." Said Stoddard.

"She what?!" asked Adrian. "That's a bit presumptuous isn't it?"

"Not really. You see, Mr. Monk. When you signed up for the DOJ, you signed up to serve at the will of the President. Your contract states that you go where I say you go. You either will comply with that or…well, it could become rather messy." Said Stoddard.

Adrian glared at John. "John. I don't get this. I don't get you. I thought we were supposed to be friends. You could have at least talked with me."

John softened. "You're right. I could have. But you would have said no. And, we need you. You were right. We have the intelligence to show where the hits are going to be, but our investigators are a bit stuck. With you in the right spot, I think they will be able to move forward."

Adrian stared at Stoddard's desk thinking of all that had gone dowb, but mostly thinking about how Natalie was going to handle it. He was between a rock and hard place, and he resented it. Hopefully, she would understand. Hopefully, he could make it right.


	8. Chapter 8

The phone finally rang at 6:15 AM. Natalie was sitting in a fetal position on the couch, eyes red from crying and arms around her shin bones, rocking and staring. TK tried to get her to eat something, to keep her energy up for the babies, but she had only managed to take a bite of toast and a sip of tea with milk and sugar. They had refused to watch television because, after hours and hours of no news, every new story grated on their nerves since there was only one thing that they really wanted to know. Was he okay?

At the sound of the ring everyone jumped. Checking caller ID, Leland noted that it was a local area code and fielded the call.

"Monk residence." He said, with apprehension written on his face. Not hearing anything from Adrian for almost an entire day, and Natalie's subsequent hysterics had worn on his nerves as well. In his gut, he felt Monk was okay. It was only in hearing his voice that he visibly relaxed.

"Oh, thank God!" he said – meaning that in the fullest sense of the phrase and not just as a cliché. "Where are you buddy?" he asked quietly, turning to Natalie and TK and mouthing– "It's him!"

Natalie began shaking and crying tears of relief, reaching her quivering hand out and asking Leland to give her the phone.

"Buddy, there's someone who wants very much to talk to you. She's been worried sick. Here, I'm handing her the phone now." Leland stated, as Natalie's fragile frame took hold of the receiver and she put her head up to the earpiece.

"A-Adrian…" she said, with a broken voice.

"Natalie! Sweetheart!" he softly replied. "I…I'm so sorry…"

"Oh…Adrian…" she said, sobbing uncontrollably. "I…was… I thought…."

She couldn't complete a sentence. Just hearing how broken up she was, broke his heart as well and, made him angry. They didn't have to recruit him that way. Couldn't they see what this would do to his sweet wife?

"I know, sweetheart… It's okay… I'm okay… It's all going to be okay." He said, trying to reassure her between her sobs. "Natalie, sweetheart. I'm on Highway 95 right now. I'm assuming you all have my keys. They'll drop me off and then we can take a cab later in the day to go pick up my car… But right now, there is nothing I want more than to be home… Please Natalie, don't cry. Honey, I'm so sorry…."

Natalie took a deep breath and touched her hand up to the mouthpiece of the phone as if she were touching his face. "Please hurry home, but be safe. I…I love you." She said.

"Sweetheart, I love you too." He replied, as he hung up the receiver.

Natalie took a few more moments to regain composure and then looked up at Leland with a relieved but broken smile.

"You okay?" he asked.

She didn't answer, but just took a deep breath and shook her head a tentative yes.

"Never a dull moment." TK said, nonchalantly. "Never a dull moment."

* * *

While they waited, Leland decided it would finally be safe to see what was going on in the world – plus, he wanted to check the weather for their last morning in Boston.

As the news played, Natalie became increasingly interested in what was happening on the screen.

There was a report on the President, including footage of him at a desk in a dark room reassuring the nation that "good would prevail. Then, there was a summary of what had happened thus far. Finally, as almost an afterthought, they mentioned structural changes in the Department of Justice – noting that there was a new Associate Deputy Director being brought on working as 3rd under Director Sharon Grier.

_Mr. Adrian Monk, long time investigator for the San Francisco Police, and most recently a lead agent at the DOJ, is replacing Carl Lawrence, who had been at the agency for 30 years. It is believed that Monk's keen eye for detail may help the agency make strides in solving this latest series of events._

_[Cut to Sharon Grier] – Adrian Monk is someone whose skill and insight are second to none. With a proven track record of solving crime, we felt there truly would be no better fit than to move him into this very important role as a part of my team at the Federal Bureau of Investigation._

_[Cut back to Announcer] – Grier, who has served under President Stoddard for 4 ½ years worked with Monk a couple of years ago in the case involving former Secretary of State Luis Fernandez, and later in the case of Billionaire murderer Sinclair Martin. She indicated that she and her team were looking forward to working closely with him and learning from him on what may the most difficult case they have faced to date._

As the story ended, Leland looked over at Natalie and she was no longer crying. A look of shock and betrayal covered her face.

"Oh, boy." Leland said under his breath.

"He's going to work with _that _woman?" she said, after a long pause.

"Who? Director Grier? Is that a problem?" he asked nervously.

"Yes, Grier. Only that _that _woman wants to bed my husband!" she stated with anger in her voice.

TK looked at Natalie and shook her head "Natalie, honey. You have _nothing_ to worry about. If you could see how Adrian looks at you…"

Natalie's mouth tightened in anger, "TK. I know, or at least I believe, that Adrian would never actually ever cheat on me. But…"

"But what, honey?" she asked.

Her voice raised. "How could he? How could he take the job _knowing_ how I feel? How could he jump into this position without so much as talking to me? How can he continue to just risk his life and our future and the future of…" she said, stopping mid-sentence. After a pause, she continued. "No. This is not right. Not right at all. It's not going to happen this way."

"Well, what are you going to do?" TK asked.

* * *

Adrian's ride pulled into the driveway a little before 8:00 AM. Entering his house, he was thrilled to see baby Lee and Abby, sitting up in a stroller being played with by TK. But, the moment he caught TK's eyes and then looked over at Leland, sitting at the kitchen table, he knew all was not well.

"Where is she?" he asked Leland.

"Outside. On the patio." Leland replied.

"Thanks." Adrian said, as he walked away from the babies and went out the patio doors, missing the anxious look that TK and Leland threw each other.

As he stepped out onto the concrete, he saw Natalie, sitting with her back to the house looking out over the water. She appeared stoic and stiffened when he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Sweetheart. I'm home." He whispered.

She did not respond, only looked forward towards the ocean.

"Darling?" he said.

"I heard you." She said flatly.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Is there something you need? Something I can do…"

"Where do you go?" she asked.

Adrian stopped. He desperately wanted to tell her everything, but he also desperately wanted to stay out of jail.

"Um... I can't tell you that." He replied.

She furrowed her brow.

"Okay, then what were you doing?" she asked, staring straight ahead.

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you that either." He replied. "I…would if I…"

"Doesn't matter." She replied, with anger welling up inside her.

"Doesn't matter?" he replied.

Ignoring his confusion, she pressed further. "Can you tell me this? Why did I have to find out on the morning news that my husband is going to be working for Sharon Grier?"

Adrian shut his eyes. Oh, man. This was bad.

"I..I didn't know." He said.

"You didn't _know? _You didn't know you were up for a promotion? Really?" she said turning towards him.

"No. Natalie, I swear." He said.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Then riddle me this, Batman…knowing how I feel about the beguiling Ms. Grier, why did you just not say _no_ to the offer? That would have been simple enough."

"I…I…I couldn't." he said, nervously.

"You _couldn't_ or you _wouldn't_?" she asked accusingly.

"Couldn't. Natalie, I really want to tell you everything but the truth is…" he said, trying to explain.

"Truth? Truth! You don't _know_ what truth is!" she said standing up and walking towards the beach.

As he stood to follow her, he said "Natalie, come on, be reasonable. Please listen…"

"No. I'm done listening. I'm done being patient. I'm just not going to do this! This is not going to happen!" she said, walking out onto the sand.

He caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "You're not going to do what?"

She jerked her arm hard from him and turned to face him.

"This! I'm not going to do this! I'm not going to sit here at home while you go off to work with some two bit floozie. I'm not going to worry about what you're getting yourself into while I just waste away. I'm not going to stand here and worry…" she began to cry. Putting her hand to her mouth, she turned and faced the ocean, then turned back to him.

"I'm not going to stand her and worry that the next call I get…or that next knock on my door…is going to be telling me that I have once again become a single mother, or have to explain to those two beautiful babies why their daddy isn't around…I…I just can't. I can't do this." She said, with tears flowing down her cheeks.

Adrian's heart sank and he was afraid to say another word, but ultimately the quiet became too much.

"What…what are you saying?" he asked timidly.

Natalie clinched her jaw, looked back out at the water and then through wounded eyes looked him straight in the face.

"I'm leaving." She said.

"What?" He said as the very words sent electrical impulses traveling through his body. "What do you mean?"

"Adrian. I'm leaving. I'm…I'm going back to California with Leland and TK. I'm taking the babies with me." She said.

"Nat…" he said as he felt his very life's blood drain from his face and his heart pulsate in despair.

"No." she said, stopping him by putting her hand over his mouth. "Don't say anything. I…I just can't do this. I have to get away. I have to have time to think. To evaluate...I'm sorry." She said, as she turned back towards the house, tears streaming down her face, leaving him standing alone on the beach.

"You can't…Natalie…you can't go…Please…Natalie…don't…go…" he said, as he reached towards the house with one hand and watched her shut the door behind her.

* * *

A few minutes later, Adrian stood at the door holding baby Lee and Abby kissing both of their little heads and enjoying every aspect of being with them. As Leland loaded their last bags in the car, he came over and put a hand on Monk's bewildered shoulder.

"It'll be okay, buddy. She loves you. She'll come around." He whispered. Adrian had no words to say back to his friend, but just looked to him with eyes of disbelief that this was even happening.

As Natalie came to collect the babies, she looked at the sadness inscribed on his face. She took Lee from him and handed him to TK, and then she took Abby and put her in the car seat herself. Turning back around, she took a good long look at him. As she saw the great tears that were rolling down his face, he reminded her of an abandoned child, hopeless and alone – and she had compassion for him.

Walking back up to him, she wrapped her arms around him and let him hold her as sobs convulsed through his body.

"This doesn't mean I don't love you." She said, through tears. "I love you with all of my heart and every fiber of my being. And nothing…nothing can ever change that."

"Then please…don't go…" he cried, one more time.

She pulled away and touched his face. "I have to. You have a job to do and I have to get myself pulled together. I can't go with you on this one. I'll call you when we reach my parent's house. Please, Adrian...take care of yourself." She said, as she turned from him and got into the car.

"Take care of yourself?" How could she even say those words. He relied on her so much.

Leland nodded his head at Monk, as he jumped into the driver's seat and TK said goodbye, but Adrian remembered none of that. As he stood on the front porch of his house in Swampscott, all he could see was Natalie's blue eyes looking back at him as they pulled away, and all he could feel was that his heart and reason for happiness went with her.


	9. Chapter 9

Adrian Monk did not report into work the next day, or the next. In fact, the only communication that anyone had with him was a short phone call from Natalie to Adrian about 9 hours after she left him standing on their doorstep. She was letting him know that she and the twins had arrived at her parent's house safely. From that point forward, he did nothing. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He sat, alone in a cavernous house void of the sound of children's voices and empty of the love he so now craved.

He had always had abandonment issues, ever since his father Jack walked away from the family and he was forced to play grown up at the age of eight. At least Natalie had the courtesy of telling him she was leaving. But even with that recognition, he struggled. He struggled with depression and fear and anger and the temptation to give up – after all, he knew he didn't deserve her anyway, who was he trying to kid?

And those two little miracles. Oh, how he desperately he wanted to hold them, to smell their little baby smells, to see their beaming little faces which had the ability to take even the worst of days and make them into something good; but, they too were gone. 3000 miles away, in the city he used to call home – that he still felt was home, especially now that everything that really made his house a home was there.

And so, he sat. With the only light in the house being that of the sun, he sat. Alone with this thoughts. Alone with himself. No Sharona to pull him out this time. No Dr. Kroeger. No Dr. Bell. Alone.

But, not alone. Across the country, Leland Stottlemeyer was worried. He was worried that nobody had heard from his longtime friend. He was worried that this had been too much for him and that perhaps he had slipped into a catatonic state again – perhaps never to come out. If this were anyone else, he would say that the person was an adult and would manage to get through it – but this was Monk. Monk, who ten years ago had just barely climbed out of the abyss and who had relied on others for his entire adult life – whether in the form of his late wife Trudy, or his assistant Sharona, or Natalie or his shrinks. The crazy paradox about Monk's life was that this guy who was so often in "Monk Land" all by himself, and who didn't do well with taking direction from others, still needed people in order to function. And, at this point in time, his people were gone – far out of reach and unable at this point to take care of him.

How could she do this? To a degree, Leland understood Natalie's angst. It would have to be horrible to live with a fear that your soul-mate could be taken from you at any moment, but now she had two young children to consider. But to just up and leave him? Without trying to work things out? She knew him better than anyone. She must really be in a bad place herself to have done it. She must be reliving the times when she received word that her first husband Mitch had been killed and she had to launch out on her own and try to raise her daughter Julie, as a single mother.

Julie! Julie was still in town. She could at least run by the house and check on him and see if he was okay. Leland would give Julie a call.

* * *

Julie and Travis arrived at the Swampscott residence around noon on day three. After parking their car in the driveway, they walked up on the porch and noticed that the door was ajar. This was not good.

Walking apprehensively into the dark and quiet house, they looked for any sign of life. They didn't have to look far, because there he was. On the living room couch, auto-repeating video from his and Natalie's wedding in Washington, while listening to the sounds of recordings of Natalie's voice – reading to him stories from Sherlock Holmes and telling him about her life growing up. It was something she did for him for times when he was afraid and she couldn't be with him.

Julie walked over to him and was shocked by his appearance. Normally, Adrian was the most well kempt person she knew. Even when he was sick, he still maintained personal hygiene. But it was clear that he had done none of that. He hadn't brushed his hair, shaved, or even brushed his teeth in almost three days. His eyes were bloodshot and had great circles underneath them. He looked drawn and dehydrated, with no evidence that he even had any water to drink.

"Adrian?" she said to him, walking over to his side. "Adrian. Can you hear me?" she asked.

No response.

She looked up at Travis who launched into medical mode, trying to make sure that his vitals were still good.

"We need to get him some water to drink." He said. "I'll go get some. Try to get him to respond."

Julie reached over for the remote, but he jerked it away.

"No." he said, through parched lips and a crackly throat and continuing to stare at the television. "Don't take her from me. It's…it's all I have."

"Adrian. Dad. That's not Mom. Mom is in California and you are here. You can't do this. You have to be strong. You can't give in. Mom will come around. She's just upset. But, she will be back. And you need to be able to show her that you can be strong without her." Julie said.

Adrian furrowed his brow and looked at Julie square in the eyes as Travis brought Adrian a glass of water.

"Be strong, without her? Julie? How exactly am I supposed to be able to be strong without her? She's my life. She's why I wake up in the morning. She's what enables me to rest peacefully at night. Be strong without her? Surely, you jest." He said.

"No. I don't jest." Said Julie. "Drink this!" she said, handing him the glass of water. He just stared at the glass.

"ADRIAN! DRINK!" she ordered. "You're not going to do anyone any good just sitting in here in the dark wishing yourself dead. You have two little children that need their daddy and a wife that loves you, even if right now she can't be with you. Mom needs to work out her own issues, but you can't be sitting around here acting like life is over just because she needed to take a break. I know. It sucks. But, you have to carry on. She WILL be back. Now, when she comes back, do you want her to see a catatonic man who can't even take care of himself? Do you want to be a burden to her and be someone that she has to worry about the rest of her days because he simply lacks the skill set to be an adult? Or, are you going to take the skills you've learned over the past 20 years and put them to good use? Are you going to show her that she married a man who will stand firm, even when the going gets tough? Your choice." Julie said.

"Where's Dr. Bell when you need him?" Adrian whined as he finally took a sip and then a gulp of water.

"You don't need Dr. Bell. You need to get up and get moving. You need to have a little faith. It's going to work out. In fact – it's going to be better than ever. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." She said.

Adrian threw her a look then said slowly with emphasis "Do you know how much I HATE that phrase?"

Julie grinned. "There's my Adrian. That's the Dad I have known and loved so much. FIGHT! Fight for her. Fight for those two little ones. Don't give in. You WILL win! Just don't give up. Stand strong, and when you feel like not fighting any more, keep standing!"

He looked down at the glass and rotated it in his hand, watching the light play off of the bevels in its design.

"Is she worth it to you?" she asked.

"What?! Why would you ask _that_?" he asked, almost offended.

"Well, if you just continue to sit here and do nothing and let her get away, I think that sends a message that your misery was more important. People get that way, you know. You've heard you can't help someone who won't help themselves? There must be a certain comfort in the familiarity of despair that some people just get stuck there. Is that what you want? Do you want to live the rest of your life in misery and despair?" she asked.

He looked up at her. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. Do you?" she asked.

"No. Of course not." He finally said.

"Then get up, get a shower, get dressed, and get busy. Your life is not over and it's not over between you and Mom. Show her the man you have become." she said.

Adrian looked at her and for the first time in three days, his sad brown eyes crinkled into a smile.

"Tell me, how did you grow up so quickly? You've turned into your mother." he said.

"Hey, around you folks, you have to grow up quickly." She joked. "You certainly don't make things easy."

He took a deep breath and turned off the television and set down his cell phone.

"Alright. I will take your advice. I'm not going to give in to my inner demons. I'm going to keep going. But first…oh gosh…I'm going to shower!"


	10. Chapter 10

Adrian spent the afternoon pouring over the contract that he had signed with the DOJ and found several loopholes within. While it was true that he served at the President's pleasure, there was a clause for 'mutually agreed upon termination' of the contract that would release him from its provisions at an date earlier than the three years of the contract specified. Now, his only challenge was to orchestrate that 'mutual agreement in such a way that he would not be charged with obstructing justice.

He could see how Stoddard could make the demand that he serve in whatever capacity that he was called to serve; but, Monk did not like being forced into doing things that he did not want to do. He was enraged at how they had actually pulled him in, and frankly thought about pressing kidnapping charges against them. But, he knew that this would likely go nowhere and the damage it would do would be worse than any gains realized.

So, he decided on a different tactic. Looking over the contract, it was clear that the expectation was that he had to go to work; but, he saw no indication that he actually had to be _productive_. It was a gamble on his part because he was playing with very well-connected members of political society; but, if Stoddard insisted on playing hardball, Adrian was prepared to suit up.

Truthfully, he knew his own limitations without Natalie nearby, and with the emotional trauma he in, was fighting the temptation to revert to his former self. So, he thought…why fight it? Work with it.

For the past five years, he had made tremendous strides in being able to control some of his more annoying tendencies and had learned to restrain his drive to do things which irritated others or got in their way. And, sometimes it could be downright exhausting just trying to fit in with social expectations. So, why tax himself? Let go of the restraint and let the inner Monk shine through. It wouldn't be an act, at least not most of it. Go right ahead and wear all of those 312 phobias on his sleeve and go wherever that took him. What were they doing to do? Fire him?

* * *

After closing up his house, he arrived at the J Edgar Hoover FBI building in Washington DC in the afternoon of the fourth day since he returned from being taken captive. His late arrival was due to refusing air travel and instead choosing to ride in the front seat of a taxi cab from Swampscott to DC – an 8 hour trip.

Using a handkerchief to open the door to the executive suite of offices, he walked into the central area by the Executive Secretary's desk, and went over and touched the top of a lamp. Next, he walked to the opposite wall and straightened a picture frame, taking the same handkerchief as before and wiping a smudge off its glass.

The Secretary observed this behavior and finally responded in a formal manner, "Sir, may I help you?"

Adrian looked around the rest of the office, shifted his neck and then walked up to her desk.

"Um… yeah. I am Adrian…Monk. Former Detective, and I guess now, the Associate Director." He said, looking everywhere but in the woman's eyes.

"Ah. Mr. Monk! Director Grier has been very concerned about you. I will let her know that you are here." She said, pressing the button to an intercom system.

"_Yes, Patricia." _ Grier said over the speaker.

"Madam Director, Associate Director Monk has arrived." Patricia answered.

Grier sighed a sigh of relief. "_Oh, thank goodness! Please, show him in."_ she stated.

As Adrian walked through the double doors into a luxurious suite, Grier jumped up from her desk and practically ran, in order to hug him. As her arms wrapped around his torso, he stiffened, not returning the embrace. Next, she kissed him on the cheek, very near his mouth. He visibly jerked away,twitched several times, and then reached into his pocket and grabbed a packet of wipes to wipe his face off with.

She just laughed. "Seriously, Adrian? I don't have cooties."

"Wanna bet?" he said, as he took the wipe and threw it in the trash. "With every kiss you are sharing millions upon millions of bacteria between people, not to mention increasing the risk of transmitting viruses such as Hepatitus B, influenza and the common cold."

Grier raised her eyebrows. "Well, I can assure you that I've just had my yearly physical exam and I'm free from all of the above. I am so glad to see you. I was afraid you weren't going to make it. Are you okay?" she asked.

No, he wasn't okay, but he wasn't about to tell her why. Instead, he found something else to complain about. He grimaced.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Sun." he said.

"Your son? Is there something wrong with the baby?" she asked.

"No. Sun. S-U-N not S-O-N. The Sun…the sun!" he said.

"The sun?" she asked, perplexed looking around. "Oh, the sun coming in the window. Is it bothering you?"

"Nuh…no…nooooo" he answered.

"Oh, okay." She said.

"Baby Leland is fine…Okay…Alright…Yes…yes, it is." He said.

"I can shut the blind." She offered.

"No. That's okay." He said.

"No, really. It's no problem." She said, standing up. Walking over to the window, she grabbed a hold of the cord and began to lower the blind.

"Alright." He replied.

Adrian watched, directing her with his hands. "Down…no..up…down…down….down a little further…up…a little straighter… ah…. Just right!"

Grier let go of the cord.

"Oh, wait…no. The top slat is a little off…would you fix it?" he asked.

Patiently, Grier adjusted the blind until Adrian gave a satisfied smile. Then she sat back down.

He continued to look at the blinds, and cocked his neck to one side, but she chose to ignore him and move on.

"Adrian, a lot has happened since we've last seen each other." She said.

He said nothing.

"Did you hear me, Adrian?" she asked.

"Um, yeah. Could you lift the left side about a quarter of a centimenter?" he asked.

"No. I can't. It's fine, Adrian. Focus." She said.

He stopped what he was doing and finally looked her in the face.

"I'm afraid there has been another attack." She continued.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Yes. Another IED was set up near the ticket counter at Disney in Orlando at around 1:30 PM today. Thankfully, it detonated without anyone getting hurt, but it did a lot of damage to that local area." Grier stated.

"Damage. That's too bad." He said.

"Yes." She said, now becoming quite uneasy with his demeanor. "The park has been shut down for the day while we investigate."

"That's good." He said, leaning forward and straightening the papers on her desk.

"Adrian. What's the matter. You're not yourself." She said.

"Yes, I am." He said, sitting back in his chair. Looking around he asked, "What wattage are those lightbulbs?"

"What does it matter?" she asked with irritation.

"That one looks brighter than that one over there." He stated.

"It doesn't matter. Do you understand Adrian?" she said slowly and tersely. "The attacks are continuing. People's lives are in danger. We need to be on our A game. Are you with me?"

"What am I supposed to do about it?" he asked.

"Well, for starters, you could act interested." She said.

"Fine. What do you have?" he said.

"Very little. We have video surveillance of a man in black clothing placing an object just under the turnstile at the ticket booth around 9:00 AM." She said.

"9:00 AM, weren't they busy then?" he asked.

"Very. And he was subtle." She stated.

"What was the IED made from?" he asked.

"We don't know yet. Forensics is still studying it." She stated.

"Did they observe where he went after he planted the bomb?" Adrian asked.

"He walked straight out into the parking lot, then disappeared into the tree line." She said.

"Get a good look at his face?" he asked.

"No." she said.

"Any other evidence?" he asked.

"Not that we could see." She said.

"Guess I can't help you then." He said. "I need more information."

"Fine. We'll fly you to Florida so that you can look at the scene." She said.

"Um, no. I…I don't fly." He said.

"What do you mean you don't fly? You fly all the time!" she said.

"Not any more." He said.

"Since when?" she asked.

He did not answer her directly. "I have always had a p-problem with actual flying. And, of course several of the times you refer to me actually flying – I was taken against my will…for instance, when I was taken to an 'undisclosed location.'" He said.

"So, you're saying we would have to kidnap you again to get you to get on a plane to Florida." She asked, irritated.

"There are other modes of transportation." He stated.

"And there is a killer out there on the loose." She said.

"Fine. I'll go to Florida. But, I'm taking a cab." He stated.

"The Associate Director of the FBI does not _do _cabs, Adrian. It is too dangerous. We'll arrange a driver." She stated.

"Fine." He said.

"Fine, you leave tonight." She said.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, Monk arrived at the Magic Kingdom.

The affected area had been cordoned off and the park was back in business with strong security in place. Still, he insisted that the crowd be moved as far away from him as possible, making the line to get into the place very long.

As he walked around the field of debris, he examined each piece of shrapnel, observing the trajectory and the size of the pieces. It was consistent with the Motorcade. Framing out the scene with his hands, he walked the entire area making mental notes of what he saw. It was a miracle that nobody was hurt. Sticking out of a wood frame of an adjacent booth was a one-inch piece of metal. He removed it. It too was consistent with the motorcade.

"Anything else?" he asked one of the investigators on site.

"First responders began bagging evidence before we could get here. We had them place it over in the shed over there under lock and key." Said the agent.

"Would you take me there?" Adrian asked.

Walking over to the shed, he observed much larger pieces, one of which clearly had Arabic writing on it.

"Can I see the police report?" he asked.

"Sure." Said the agent.

Looking over the report, he saw a listing of evidence collected to that point, and the item was clearly catalogued.

"Okay, thanks." He said, putting the report down.

Walking out of the shed, he put his hands down to his side and just looked around.

"So…what do you think?" the man asked.

"I think someone planted an IED." Adrian stated.

"Yeah. Well we know that." The man stated. "Any other insights?"

"I don't have any other insights to share at this time." Adrian answered. "Thanks for your time though." He said, as he walked back to the driver.

"Ready to go?" he asked the man.

"Go? We just got here!" the man asked.

"Yeah, and?" Adrian asked.

"Well, at least we should stay the night. That was a 13 hour drive!" said the driver.

"Oh, you can pull off at a rest stop and rest along the way. It'll be okay." Adrian said. "Let's go."

The driver frowned and walked over to his door as the agent watched Adrian walk back to the car in disbelief.

"Oh, make sure you preserve all of this stuff." Said Adrian.

"Of course. That's standard." Said the man.

As Adrian's car exited the area, the man called back to headquarters to talk to his superior.

"Hey, the Associate Director just left…. Yeah…. How was he? . Weird…_That_ is the great Adrian Monk?...I don't get it. He didn't help us with a single thing."

* * *

Back in the car, Adrian used his cell phone to phone a friend. The phone rang for a few rings and then the man picked up.

"_Armstrong."_ He stated.

"Preacher! How are you? This is Adrian…Monk." He said to his police friend.

"_Adrian! My man! Oh wow! So happy to hear from you! How's the Mrs?_" he asked.

The question stung and felt awkward, making Adrian even more so.

"Um…yeah…well…here's the thing… we can talk about that later. I have something I need for you to do." He said.

"_Anything, friend."_ Said Armstrong.

"It's a big one. I need a listing of government employees who have flown to the Middle East over, say, the last year or so." Adrian said.

"_That's not possible to get. Besides, you would need a warrant."_ Armstrong stated.

"Okay. Then, let's go about this another way. I'm staying in DC. Can you give me some hints of how to look for that kind of information in the public record?" Adrian said.

"_That, I can do_." Said Preacher. "_Hey, you got a place to hang out? If not, you can stay with me_."

"Sounds great. I'll be there in about 15 hours." Said Adrian.

"_15 hours?_" asked Preacher.

"Yeah. We're driving back from Orlando." He said, with a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Since the last time Adrian had seen him, Preacher Armstrong had been transferred to a new precinct and with the transfer got a promotion and a new title. Now Captain of the Mt. Pleasant Police Department, he worked and lived in a community that saw its share of violent crime – one fitted for his particular brand of justice and compassion.

On the inside, the home that he lived in reminded Adrian a lot of the home that he himself had grown up in; but, on the outside, it was like most of the other homes in the area, attached on both sides to other units.

The closeness of city living was familiar to Adrian since he had lived in an apartment for so many years, but it wasn't what he would have chosen. This was how Preacher liked it though. He wanted to be in the community where he could really make a difference. He seemed to be in his element.

Preacher helped Monk carry his suitcases to a room on the second floor that would serve as Adrian's bedroom. He would also have his own bathroom, closet, and there was even a little kitchenette nearby from when the home had been rented out as two apartments. It was perfect for a short stay.

After setting down his things, he and Preacher went to the downstairs living room to catch up and talk about what had been going on in their lives. The re-connection with Preacher had a real calming affect on Monk, who at the end of a long trip from Orlando, where there was lots of stop-and-go traffic, had been a bit of a pain to anyone he came in contact with. He was even beginning to irritate himself, learning that while "Monk-unfiltered" served its own purpose, the little bit of effort to keep things under control had great benefits in that people liked him better and he liked himself. Bottom line, reverting back to the old Adrian showed him that he missed the new Adrian, a person that he couldn't wait to being that man again, once Natalie was back in his arms.

It didn't take long before the preacher in Preacher came out. An excellent judge of people, he knew that his friend Adrian had come to him a sad and troubled soul. Not being one to beat around the bush, he started their conversation by asking where Natalie was.

"She's…she's away at her parent's house in California." Adrian said, looking at the floor.

"On a visit?" asked Preacher.

Adrian didn't know how to answer that, so he just told Preacher the truth. "She said she needed to get away. Some stuff happened with my job, so she took the babies…"

"Babies? Wait a minute, back up. Whose babies?" asked Preacher.

Adrian smiled. "Oh, that's right. You don't know. Natalie and I are the parents of four-month-old twins." He said, pulling out his wallet which unfolded in accordion style with dozens of photographs. Smiling, he showed him each photograph. "Here, here are their pictures. Oh, and here…and, I like this one too... Awe, and this one is where Abby first sat up."

"Amazing man! Congratulations. They look like a miniature Adrian and Natalie." Preacher said.

"Act like it too. Heaven help them." Adrian laughed, for the first time in days, and then became serious. "Preacher, I miss them. I miss them bad."

Preacher looked at Adrian. "I know, it's hard. That's fatherhood. Those little goober heads wind up owning your heart."

"Them, and their mother." Said Monk.

"Well, friend, I don't pretend to know what is going to happen, but I find it very hard to believe that Natalie will just stay gone. You two are too good together. I see how she looks at you. The woman loves you." He said.

"I know she does. Perhaps too much. Is it fair of me to ask her to go through this? That's what worries me." Adrian said.

"You've got to live out your calling and she'll have to accept it. Fair doesn't enter into it. She'll come around." Preacher said.

"Yeah, but, maybe my calling isn't this." Adrian said, thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it a lot. Maybe my calling is just Natalie and making her happy."

Preacher knew that the answer would not be that simple, but being the wise man he was, simply said "Well, that's something that you two need to figure out. You'll work it out. I have _faith_."

* * *

In California, Natalie sat at a table bedecked with flowers that Adrian had sent her (he had sent her a bouquet every day that she had been gone). She was in the garden of her parent's home letting the sunshine bake into her skin and drinking a glass of wine. It had been almost a week since she had arrived home, unannounced, and she hadn't told her parents yet about what had happened. Knowing Natalie, they didn't press. But that didn't mean that it wasn't bothering them.

Peggy looked out the back window and saw her sitting there and had finally had enough. She knew that her daughter was hurting and wasn't sure why, but she also knew that to out and out confront her with it would likely drive her way. So, she chose a more subtle approach. She would talk about herself and hope it hit the mark. She was spot on. Walking to where she was sitting, she saw Natalie's glass of wine and tapped her own the shoulder.

"Dear, it isn't even noon yet." She stated. "Don't be like your mother."

Natalie took a breath and said, "I'm just relaxing, Mom. It makes me feel peaceful."

"It may make you _feel_ peaceful, but it won't bring peace. Trust me. It numbs the pain, but it doesn't get rid of the problem." Peggy said.

"Since when were you in pain, mother?" Natalie said. "You've always had everything you ever wanted."

Peggy sat. "You're wrong. I had material wealth and I had you two children, but I did not always have everything I ever wanted. That wasn't always a bad thing."

"You had Daddy too." Natalie said.

Peggy stopped and considered her words carefully. "Natalie Jane, my life with your father is not what you imagine it to be. It hasn't always been easy. There was even a time where I thought it would not work out."

She had Natalie's attention.

"You are too young to remember it, but there was a time where your father would travel a lot. You were very young, and Jonathan was not yet born. I had a difficult time coping with being away from him and being alone with a young baby, and I worried about everything. Would he make it home? How would I raise you? I even worried that he might have someone else. Of course, he didn't. But I felt very insecure and alone, not knowing really where I fit in.

I made myself feel so bad that I took it out on him, rather than looking within to see what was driving it all. Your father was just doing his job. It was unfair of me to have treated him the way I did, but I was stubborn, and it almost cost me - not what I 'wanted,' – which wasn't what I really wanted (but I did not know that at the time) - but what I needed."

Natalie asked, "And what was that?"

"I needed your Father. I needed that feeling of connectedness that we had before life got so busy. I needed to feel like your father needed me. I had completely misread things, because in his mind he was just doing what men do, providing for his family. His working was an offering of love. He didn't know how I was feeling because I didn't communicate that. I blamed him for things out of his control and regretted that."

"Have you been talking to Adrian?" Natalie asked, with narrowed eyes.

"No, ma'am. I am curious though what has happened between the two of you. Things were so good. Did you have a fight?" Peggy asked.

Natalie thought for a second. She really didn't want to get into it with Peggy at that moment. "I want to hear the rest of your story. How did you fix it? What did you do?"

Peggy sighed. "Well first, I stopped borrowing trouble. Three quarters of what I was concerned about were figments of my imagination. We women can be our own worst enemies in that way.

Your father is a lot like Adrian in that he has only ever had eyes for me. I can't imagine either man would ever cheat. I stopped worrying about it. Oh, I didn't totally take it for granted. People get driven into situations you would never expect, so you never say never. You have to maintain the relationship and be careful on your end that you don't end up _pushing_ your husband into another woman's arms – because everyone needs love. It's part of being human. And, often, if they don't feel love where they are at, they will inadvertently seek it elsewhere.

The best way that I know of showing love to a man is to appeal to his drive to be your hero. I know it seems and sounds silly. But, down deep in every man is a little boy that just wants to feel like he is warding off anything unpleasant for the woman he loves. They are natural born protectors. Let him know you appreciate the efforts. Brag on him, if you will.

Second, I learned to let it go and accept things for what they were. I tried to see the good in things – rather than focusing on the bad. And you know after a while, things became good. Better than ever."

"That's a nice story, Mom. But your fears were imagined. Mine are real. Adrian's job is very dangerous. And the way Adrian and I communicate sometimes. It's not good." Natalie said.

"Concerning the job, it's always been that way. You knew this when you married him, so this is not the issue. And, about the communication, of course, it isn't always good, dear. Marriage is work – a lot of hard work. It is work to learn to learn how to communicate with one another, and that is a work that never ends. Your father and I have learned to communicate rather well to the point we often know what the other is thinking before a word is said, but we still have to work at it. And darling, having lived in your household, I can tell you unequivocally that it is worth it.

You know, you felt that I had rejected Mitch because he wasn't of the right social status. That wasn't it. I know I should have accepted him as the man you loved, but what I _wanted_ for you was not some social status – but someone who could fulfill you and let your gifts shine. Mitch was a good man and you had the life you had with him – same with Stephen. But it was always 'You and Mitch' or 'You and Stephen.' Separate individuals. The Navy men and their wife.

With Adrian, you have your own separate identity, but there is also this close tie like I've never seen. You operate, at times, as one unit. It is not 'you' plural, as two individuals, but 'you' singular. The couple. One unit. And, what I can see has the makings of one of 'the great couples.' You complete each other. Soulmates. You know I'm right."

Natalie said nothing, but was listening to every word.

" I guess what I'm saying is, Natalie Jane, don't blow this. These kinds of relationships don't happen very often. Do whatever you have to do to make it right.

Adrian is a good man and he is good for you. It took me living in your home to see it, because I just thought he was this strange little needy character and you were going to be his mother figure. That is not at all the case. He is the Mr. Darcy to your Elizabeth Bennett, the Rochester to your Jane Eyre, the Tracy to your Hepburn"

"As long as you don't say he's the Romeo to my Juliet, we're okay. Mom, two out of three of those couples are fictional. That's not real life" Natalie said.

"There you go looking at the negative. You miss my point. Adrian is not a perfect man. There are no perfect men. And newsflash, you're not perfect either. But what you have together is _really, really _good. He may not do or say or be everything you think you want right now. But, he really is exactly what you _need_. Don't throw him away over some fanciful notions running around in your head."


	12. Chapter 12

Adrian's cell phone came alive at 6:45 AM. First, was a text notification, but before he could check the text, the phone rang. It was Grier letting him know that there had been another attack, this time at the University of Chicago. She wanted him in the office as soon as possible.

After hanging up with Grier, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes reaching for his reading glasses in order to see who the text was from. He was excited to see that it was from Natalie. He had been texting her at least once a day just to touch base, but she hadn't responded until now.

Anxiously, he tapped through the prompts to get to the text, hoping for a sign that things were improving. He wasn't disappointed.

_Good Morning, Adrian. I'm sorry I haven't responded until now, but I've read everything that you've had to say. Say hello to Preacher for me. Things are okay here. Lee is becoming more like you every day. I came in yesterday and he had arranged all the toys in his crib in a perfectly straight line! Not even five months old yet and already showing genius. Abby has been a bit grumpy. I think she misses her daddy. Truthfully, I miss him too. We have things we need to talk about and work out. But not yet. I'm not ready. Anyway, just wanted to tell you to have a good day and to be safe. I love you. Nat._

Like a giddy schoolboy, Adrian ran down the stairs to show Preacher the text.

"Look here! She loves me and she misses me!" he said, showing Preacher the text. "I've got to write her back! What should I say?."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, friend. Hang back a minute and think this through. Don't show your hand too much right now, you'll just overwhelm her. Play it cool" Preacher advised.

"Play it …cool? Like hard to get?" Adrian asked.

"No. Not hard to get. Don't play games. But tread carefully. The lady is upset. Don't just go gushing out your feelings. You don't want her coming back to you out of guilt. Give her space to think things through on her own. She will come to the right conclusion." Said Preacher.

With this advice in mind, even though his heart wanted to pour forth a tome declaring his undying love, he kept it short and sweet.

_Good morning_ _Sweetheart. I was happy to get your text. I think about you all the time. I'm glad to hear things are okay. Tell Abby her daddy misses her too and give Lee a kiss for me. I hope your day goes well. I love you, Sincerely, Adrian Monk._

"Is this good?" Adrian asked, feeling insecure.

"Yeah. I think it sets a good tone. Nice job." Said Preacher.

* * *

After texting Natalie, Adrian got ready for work and then came back downstairs for a light breakfast before heading out. As he ate a piece of toast with butter on it and drank black coffee, he was very interested in what the news coverage would be of the attack. According to the anchor, it was a homemade IED placed outside of the library at the University of Chicago, after hours. Nobody had claimed responsibility.

"That's strange." Said Preacher, as he watched along with Adrian.

"What's that?" asked Monk.

"This is the third attack like this, no…make that four. One in DC. One with the President. Orlando, and now here. And yet nobody claims responsibility. What's the point?" he asked.

Adrian knew that the number was actually six, but that part was classified. With Preacher being part of the DC circuit, however, he figured he would see if there was any evidence that he wasn't privy to in the House office building and Motorcade bombings.

"Yeah, that's something." He said. "What do you know about the ones involving DC? You know the one at the Cannon Building and the Motorcade?"

"I was on duty when both happened. Heard about them on the Police scanner." Said Preacher.

"What did they say about them? And, was there, you know, any increased chatter or anything going on prior?" Adrian asked.

"No. Not a peep. Normally we at least get a little heads up that someone is going to do something and to be on the alert. Goes out to the heads of all of the precincts. Nothing this time." Said Preacher.

"So, the FBI or Homeland Security didn't warn you of anything?" Adrian asked.

"Nope. Nothing. I'm surprised too. They have eyes and ears everywhere. This one is a mystery." Preacher said.

* * *

At the Hoover Building, Grier held a meeting that morning at 10:00 AM with all of the field agents assigned to the case. One of her assistants, Henry Meadows, ran the projector.

Adrian sat at the front of the table close to the wall where things were being projected, while Grier stood with a pointing stick in hand leading the meeting. She held the pointer like a switch, tapping her left hand with it as she talked.

"Good morning, Gentlemen," she said. "This morning's briefing is going to be very important, so I suggest that you all take notes. We're going to go through the various attacks to date and discuss possible similarities or differences in making our case."

"Meadows. Please pull up the agenda…. Alright, first…" she said, taking the pointer and tapping the wall with it, then dropping it back down in front of her about 2 feet from where Adrian sat. "We will have a brief summary of each incident so that we can have them in mind as we listen to the presentations."

While she talked, all Adrian could do was focus on the pointer. Its tip looked so inviting. Irresistible. He just had to touch it.

Leaning forward, he reached out his index finger just as Grier said, "Next, Director Monk will brief us on what he found during his trip down to Orlando. Adrian is among the greatest investigative minds in the world, so you won't want to miss that. After that, Freeman will give us a briefing of some new information concerning the Cannon Building. And finally, we'll have a brainstorming session to try to ferret out the similarities and various clues received with each bombing.

There is a definite M.O. The hope is that perhaps in our vast experience one of us may pick up on something that others have not and give us what we need to head off the next attack. May I remind you, we've had six attacks out of a promised ten. Stopping the remaining four is our priority."

Adrian raised his hand, interrupting her talk. "Um, Director Grier." He said, staring at the pointer again.

"Yes?" she responded.

"Um…I..uh…." he leaned forward and touched the tip of the pointer with his index finger, and then with relief written on his face he looked up at her. "Would you remind me, how did we know there were going to be ten attacks?"

Grier looked at her pointer and then at him. "Chatter. There was chatter."

"What does that mean? Chatter? Cell phone conversations? Video surveillance?" he asked.

"Yes, that sort of thing." She said.

"Who reported on the chatter?" he asked.

Grier looked at him, "I'm afraid I don't understand, Adrian. What does that matter?"

"Oh, it may not matter a lot, but it's just …it would be nice…" he said, getting distracted by the reflection of someone's watch shining on the wall. "If someone heard something, maybe we interview the witness and maybe pick up new details."

"That sort of information is already in the police report." She said.

"Police report?" he asked. "Which departments were involved?"

"I don't have a listing of them right here, Adrian. Honestly, can't this inquiry wait? We have limited time here today." She said.

"Oh…sure. Go ahead." He said, looking over at the spiral notebook of the man sitting next to him, which had a remnant of torn paper hanging out its side.

"Okay, for our brainstorming, we will divide into groups…" Grier continued, as Adrian reached forward and pinched the piece of paper with his fingers. As he began to pull at the paper, the man's books began to move. The man noticed and slammed his hand down on top of the notebook, just as Grier said "And that's about it. Okay, Adrian your turn."

The entire room watched as Adrian pulled the paper out from the spiraled rings and then wadded it up into a little ball with his fingers. He looked up and then around the room, and then back at the man. "You'll thank me later." He said with a satisfied grin.

The man looked back at Grier with raised brows and Adrian turned to her and grinned, with his hands folded on the table in front of him.

Grier peered down. "Adrian?"

"What?" he replied.

"The report? Will you tell us what happened in Orlando?" she said.

"Oh. Ah yeah. Orlando." He said. Craning his neck he started. "Well, we drove down to Orlando. There was lots of traffic. If the driver would have gone the way I told him, it would have been quicker."

"Adrian, we're not interested in the traffic. What did you see at the scene of the crime?" Grier asked.

"Once we got there we saw that a guy blew up an IED next to the ticket counter." He stopped and looked back at Grier who cocked her head and furrowed her brow. "Um, we knew that. What else did you see?"

"Well, that was about it. There was shrapnel and stuff. Saw one piece made its way almost all the way through a board, so had to be a pretty powerful blast. Nobody was hurt though thank goodness."

Sharon Grier blinked several times, and then shook her head. "Uh. Okay. That's it?"

He nodded with raised eyebrows and a slight grin.

"Ahem. Okay, well thank you for your report, Adrian. Mr. Freeman, what do you have for me?"

* * *

The rest of the day, Adrian was left alone in his office. Grier knew something was off and wasn't sure how to read it. Frustrated, she put in a call to Stoddard, complaining Monk had "flipped his lid"; but, Stoddard was out visiting another state and wouldn't be available for non-emergencies until the next morning.

For his part, of course, he had paid attention to every detail in the meeting and took mental notes on all of the various photographic exhibits of each crime scene. Now, in his office, he had the luxury of working alone and unobserved.

First, he charted the various crime scenes and noted their characteristics

\- _Boston Harbor. Target – US Military Strategic Monitoring System. Device used – Underwater Drone. Destructive capability – High due to power of explosives._

_\- Missouri. Target – National Guard. Device Used – Rocket Launcher from Libyan Arms – Destructive capability – medium due to arms used and power of explosives._

_\- D.C. Target- Cannon Building. Device Used – Typical IED made from common chemicals. – Destructive capability – medium due to placement, though there were several casualties. It was deadliest of the attacks._

_\- D.C. #2. Target – Presidential Motorcade. Device Used – Roadside IED using Libyan weaponry. Destructive capability – medium due to power of explosives._

_\- Orlando. Target – Disney. Device Used – IED made from some sort of Libyan weaponry, possibly hollowed out mortar shells. Destructive capability, minimal due to placement. Could have been worse._

_\- Chicago. Target – University Library. Device used – IED. Destructive capability – minimal due to time of day and power of explosive._

Next, he listed the things in common.

\- _At least three of the events involved weapons, likely purchased on the black market, from the Libyan Revolution_

_\- All were IEDs_

_\- All were listed on the "chatter" list except for the motorcade attack_

_\- All appeared planned so as to result in minimal collateral damage, though the Cannon office building did have casualties_

Finally, he listed the differences.

\- _There was a difference in the sophistication involved in the various devices. For instance, an underwater drone able to carry explosives straight up to a Military Monitoring system was likely much more expensive and sophisticated in terms of technology than an IED in a trash can made of common materials._

_\- The fact that some made use of Libyan arms and some did not might be of significance. _

_\- At least three of the attacks required some level of sensitive intelligence, indicating at least one contact in the intelligence community._

_\- Finally, there was the inconsistency in the "chatter" story. Preacher indicated that he routinely received reports if there was chatter within the intelligence community indicating a threat. He didn't receive any this time, so it may have been that intelligence officers had just been told that this was police intelligence, when in reality, it was planted information by someone telling them which cities would be targeted. But why?_

* * *

Adrian struggled with his thoughts. Laying out the evidence had been easy, but now, analyzing it was proving to be difficult. His thinking seemed muddled. He couldn't concentrate. He knew that there was something in the back of his mind bothering him about the case, but he couldn't pull it up. It was as if he was a computer and one of his memory cards had malfunctioned.

He had been this way before in the past when things weren't quite right. Usually, it was something trivial that would throw off his ability to think. But this wasn't trivial. This was his life. Taking out his cell phone, he texted Natalie.

_Good Afternoon, Sweetheart. Just sitting here thinking about you as I review this case. I am a little stuck at present and wish I had my 'assistant' by my side helping me. I know you have your reasons, and I'm not saying this to pressure you. But, I just wanted you to know how much I value having you here. That is all. I love you. Adrian Monk._

Natalie received the text while she and Peggy were picking out meals for a dinner party the following week that the Davenports were having with some foreign clients. She read it and sighed. His world must really feel 'off' without her. Truth is, hers felt off without him as well. Her thoughts drifted, and she briefly considered calling him. Unfortunately, her thoughts were interrupted by Peggy calling for her opinion on which wine to serve. Putting it all at the back of her mind, she returned to her duties and the mundane tasks of a California socialite.

.

* * *

Thank you for your comments, particularly the steadfast support of alex hoodle, Dmander 4483, and KittyKat06. I appreciate the encouragement.

I also appreciate the guest reviewer for taking the time to give me the critique as well, though I don't agree with some of the conclusions. For instance, Natalie has changed from the TV show in that she has had another marriage, a severe nervous breakdown and a set of twins. I have written her the way I have in order to tease out the psychological implications of someone with her history coming to the realization that her husband's line of work might put her children in a very undesirable position in the future - a world without daddy. She has to grapple with that.

Second, the only overtly religious character in the series is Preacher, who is in character for who he is. While the characters in the television show were not overtly religious, they were not void of religion either and every so often a line would be dropped here or there. (Example, when the puppies were born, 'what was God thinking?'). Spirituality is very important in many people's lives and it was one aspect of character development I wanted to explore. Plus, it's good to have a positive representation of a Christian in a world where they tend to be portrayed in a negative light or ignored by popular media.

Finally, the charge of misogyny misconstrues what was happening there. I would have had the same pep talk for Adrian if the shoe had been on the other foot, with minor modifications. Peggy's point of view is consistent with something that someone from her age group or someone with a more traditional point of view might give. I believe the Davenports lean more traditional/conservative given that Natalie considered herself a wild child growing up and colored outside the lines of what was expected of her, much to her mother's chagrin.

Bottom line, the message is that relationships take work and self-sacrifice and Peggy was simply giving Natalie her take on what had worked for her and Bobby.

I hesitated writing this response, but felt I owed it to my readers to explain a little of where I was coming from since the review was in many ways the opposite of what I'm trying to convey. Since the review was anonymous, there was no way to private message the person. Currently, my plans are to write 10 of these stories - for obvious reasons to the Monk fan.

I appreciate all feedback, positive or negative. Thank you for your time! Janine.


	13. Chapter 13

"25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31…" Adrian said to himself as he brushed the upper left side of his mouth shortly after waking up. He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"35,36, 37…" he continued.

"Hey Adrian. You in there? You've got a phone call." Said Preacher from the outside.

"..39,40. If it's not Natalie, take a message." He said, switching to the upper right side. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5…"

"Adrian, it's the President." Said Preacher.

"…6, 7, 8… The President of what? 9, 10, 11…" he replied.

"Of Taco Bell…what do you think? The President of the United States. President Stoddard is on the phone right now and would like to speak with you." Preacher replied.

Adrian stopped brushing and then shook his head in frustration. "I had no idea he had anything to do with the fast food industry. Great! Now, I have to start all over - Oh, well." He said, opening the door and taking the phone.

"This is Adrian Monk." He answered.

"_Adrian. This is John. Were you busy?" _he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I was." Adrian stated.

"_Well, whatever you were doing, this is more important." _

Adrian rolled his eyes.

_"Adrian, I just got off the phone with Sharon Grier. She told me how you've been acting." _ Said Stoddard.

"And just how have I been acting?" asked Adrian, a smirk forming on his lips. It appeared his little plan had the effect that he wanted.

_"Disorganized. Disoriented. Unhelpful." _Said Stoddard. "_Not at all yourself. Mildly Insane. Her words_."

"That describes about 98% of the people in her organization." Said Monk. "So, she called you about that?"

_"Adrian. I wasn't born yesterday. I know what you're trying to do."_ John replied.

"And what is that?" he asked.

_"Don't think I'm going to let you out of this contract if you act crazy. It's not going to happen!" _John answered.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about. Act crazy? Me?" Adrian questioned.

_"Very funny. You know I can send you to jail for obstructing justice too." _ Said Stoddard.

"You really like threatening me with jail, don't you John?" Adrian replied, perturbed.

_"It's not a threat, Adrian. Listen, the press is breathing down my neck about these bombings and Grier's team is getting nowhere. That's why it is so urgent that you get on this case. So, what's your deal?"_ Stoddard responded.

Adrian didn't respond. The political fallout was the urgency that he solve the case, and not the possible loss of life? Lovely.

_"Adrian. We need your help. Where's Natalie. Let me speak with her." _he said.

"She's not here." Adrian replied. "She went to California."

"_When will she be back?"_ said John.

"Well, I don't exactly know. Seems she was a bit traumatized by the sound of her husband being abducted by unknown assailants and she needed time away to recover." Adrian said.

_"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. You work so well with her."_ said John.

"Yes. Yes, I do. And, I don't work well without her. Ask anyone that I worked with on the San Francisco PD. They all know me well."

The President was silent, so an emboldened Adrian continued.

"So, while you're threatening me with jail time to save yourself from a little political embarrassment, consider the embarrassment you'll feel when the highly decorated Commissioner of the San Francisco PD or the Chief of Police of Summit, New Jersey come before a judge and testify of how I was released from the Police Department on psychological discharge after the brutal murder of my first wife. Consider the impact on your case when they speak of how I would commonly become disoriented and out of sorts after that if things were not 'just right' – things like being kidnapped and taken away from my family, not knowing if I would live or die. Then imagine the headlines as the press explains how you caused my setback." he replied.

Stoddard was silent for several seconds. _"Alright... What do you want?" _

"What do I want?" Adrian asked. "You make this sound like I'm blackmailing you."

"_Aren't you? Okay...What can I do to make it better?"_ John said.

"You can release me from this contract so I can go and pursue my wife and get my life back." Said Adrian.

_"I see. I'll tell you what. You work with Grier and get this case solve…"_ Stoddard said.

"No. Not with Grier. Having worked in the government for a while now, it's pretty clear to me that I work best without having someone over my head dictating what I can or can't do." Adrian said.

_"Adrian, it's her case. You're her Associate Director."_ Stoddard replied.

"If it's her case, let her solve it." Adrian said, pausing for affect. "But, you know she can't solve it, can she?"

Stoddard tapped a pen on his desk. "_Okay. You win. You have full control over how you investigate the case, so long as you keep Grier in the loop. She will be told to give you the briefings for you to review, but you have full reign over what you actually investigate – so long as it towards the end goal of solving this case."_

"And?" Adrian asked.

_"And…you solve the case and I'll let you out of your contract."_ Said Stoddard.

"I have your word?" Adrian asked.

_"You have my word."_ John replied.

"Good. D.C. is a one-party consent area, so the fact that I might have recorded this phone call will keep you honest." Said Monk. He hadn't actually, since the phone was Preacher's and it was just handed to him, but he thought it would help keep Stoddard honest.

* * *

Natalie bundled the babies up and put them in their car seats in preparation for their trip to Marin County. They were going to meet their Uncle Ambrose and Aunt Heather for the first time.

She was surprised by the request that she meet them at a local park. It seems that Ambrose's psychiatrist had prescribed him a new anti-anxiety medication that Ambrose tolerated well, and Heather had been working with him in baby steps helping him to leave the house. There was a National Booksellers' Awards Ceremony later that month and it so happened that one of Ambrose's manuals had been nominated for an award. Heather had encouraged him to try to work up to being in a crowd, and meeting at the park was part of that exercise.

Pulling up to the park, she began to cry when she saw Ambrose and Heather sitting together eating a sack lunch on a bench watching children play. Heather gently stroked his back, and she could tell Ambrose was very nervous by the way he fidgeted. But, he was holding his own and Natalie felt so proud of him in that moment.

Placing the babies in a double-stroller, Natalie rolled them up to the couple and made the introductions.

"Ambrose, Heather. I would like for you to meet Leland Robert and Abigail Margaret. We call them Lee and Abby for short." She said with a smile.

"Oh my goodness! Natalie!" Ambrose said in awe. "They..they're beautiful. Wow! Abby looks just like you and Lee, well.."

"I know. Everyone says it." Natalie said, clasping her hands up in front of her face. "He's Adrian made over. Do you want to hold them?"

"Oh…no…no I couldn't." Ambrose said, shaking and sitting back down on the bench. "I might break them."

"It's okay, Ambrose. You can do this." Said Heather, sipping on a soda.

"She's right, Ambrose. You'll be fine." Natalie said, lifting Abby up and handing her to Heather and lifting Lee up out of the stroller and handing him to his uncle.

As Ambrose held the baby carefully around his torso, he smiled and said, "Hello little man! I'm your uncle. Ambrose Monk. I'm very happy to meet you."

Lee studied Ambrose's face as if he understood, and then leaned forward and laid ahold of one of the buttons on Ambrose's shirt.

"He's so precious, Natalie!" said Heather. "Is he a good baby?"

"Very. His little sister is the emotional one." Natalie said. "But please, tell me about you? This is absolutely AMAZING Ambrose! I never thought I would see the day."

"Yeah. Neither did I." Ambrose said, looking between Lee who was now pounding on Ambrose's chest with his tiny hands, and Natalie.

"Natalie, let me tell you, it's changed our lives. We haven't tried any big crowds yet, but last week we went to the Supermarket early in the morning and bought groceries." Heather said.

"Do you know when the last time it was that I actually was in a Supermarket?" Ambrose said. "Ten. I was ten years old. Right around the time Dad left."

"And you did so well, honey. He did so well, Natalie! You would have been proud of him!" Heather continued.

"I AM proud of him!" Natalie said, patting Ambrose on the shoulder. "So proud! And I hear you're up for an award?"

"Yes. Yes… the Booksellers' Convention has nominated one of my manuals for Best Non-fiction Instructional Manual." Ambrose replied.

"There are fictional Instructional Manuals?" Natalie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah. There are books on everything. You'd be surprised. Anyway, I've won the award before but have never been able to attend, and Heather…" Ambrose said.

"I thought, why not go this year? The doctor wants him to try new situations. So…" Heather said.

"So, I'm going! I'm going to go to the Convention!" Ambrose said anxiously.

"That's wonderful!" Natalie said exuberantly.

"Thank you. I'm…I'm so nervous though. Do you think you and Adrian can come?" he asked.

Natalie's look turned a bit more serious. "I..I'm not sure." She said.

"Why not?" asked Heather. "It would mean a lot to Ambrose."

"Well, Adrian and I aren't…well, we are but we aren't…we're not together right now." Natalie said, not sure how Ambrose would take the news.

"You split up?" Heather asked, shocked.

"Was it…was it me? It was me, wasn't it?" Ambrose said.

"No…no..no.." Natalie said. "We haven't broken up. I just needed a little time away."

Ambrose and Heather listened.

"You see, it kinda stemmed around Adrian's job and how dangerous it is, sometimes." Natalie said.

"But you knew that." Said Heather.

"Yeah. I know. I knew that. But something happened and I thought, even though everything was telling me no, I was afraid that I had lost him. It..it was really terrible. And then, I found out that he was okay, but was going to be put in a situation where he might be in worse danger. And, I looked down at our children and thought of what it would be to raise them by myself and what it would be like to have to explain to them why their daddy wasn't there. And, I just couldn't deal with it. …I just had to get away. Mom insinuated I was thinking too much of myself and just needed to communicate better." She said.

"So, let me get this straight, you don't want your babies to be without a father, so you take off and leave them without their father?" Heather said. "Doesn't sound very rational to me."

Natalie sat up straight feeling a little defensive, but then Ambrose stepped in.

"No, Honey. You don't understand. But, I do. I understand, Natalie." He said.

"You do?" Natalie asked.

"Yes. It's called thanatophobia coupled with a bit of autophobia, and metathesiophobia with a single parent twist." He said.

"Come again?" Natalie asked.

"It's fear, Natalie. You are struggling with fear. Fear of losing someone you love. Fear of being alone. Fear of change. Fear of the future unknown. Fear of pain. Fear of heartbreak. Fear for your children." Ambrose said.

Natalie whelmed up. He had struck a chord. "You make me sound like I'm pretty much a mess."

"Well, aren't you? Natalie, you may not know this about me, but I've pretty much struggled with fear my whole life." He said, trying to lighten things a little.

"Oh yeah?" she said, wiping her eyes with a smile. "I never noticed."

"I've spent my entire life trying to insulate myself in some imaginary little cocoon from bad things happening. Honestly, had it not been for Heather and my shrink, I still would be. But these past few months have taught me more than I could ever have imagined." He said.

"What's that, Ambrose?" Natalie asked.

"They've taught me that I can't ultimately isolate myself from bad things. Whether I'm in the house or I'm out and about, bad things can and do happen. It's a fact of life. I've known this, goodness, since Dad left. But, I couldn't process it. I couldn't make it compute. With therapy and …Heather, I am seeing that I can't control what happens tomorrow and the good and the bad are going to come. I still struggle with acceptance of that, but I'm getting there." He said.

Natalie watched and marveled at Ambrose's new self-awareness and the growth she saw within him.

"I've learned something else." He said. "Since I've been with Heather, and since I've been able to get out a bit…I've learned what I've missed and what regret I now have that I didn't get to do it sooner. I …I guess what I'm saying is, your fears are normal and natural. They are a part of life. You don't have them to the degree that I or Adrian have had them. But, they are every bit as real. Nevertheless, you need to know that you can't wrap your life up in a cocoon and isolate yourself and your children from bad things. You can't isolate Adrian. And, you can't let fear rob you of life. I've done that for far too long. You…you don't want to do that, trust me."

Wow. That was it. Ambrose had nailed what the issue was to the degree that Natalie was surprised that she hadn't seen it. She had a side of her that was prone to worry in the past, but this was beyond worry. This was a paralyzing fear that wasn't based so much on objective reality (though there was some basis for concern given Adrian's work), but more on raw emotion. It was normal for her to question and even be anxious about some of these things, but the way she had dealt with it wasn't necessarily right – not that she placed blame on herself. She was trying to figure all of this out as well. It took Ambrose to help her see it.

"Amazing." She said.

"What's that?" he asked.

"You read me so well." She replied.

"I've _been_ you for 50 years, and worse. It's not easy. But, you can't let it defeat you." He said.

At that point Abby began to fuss and Heather, with a soda in one hand and the baby cradled in the opposite arm, leaned over to give her niece back to Natalie. As she did, her soda tilted Ambrose and Lee's way.

"Hey, look at that!" Ambrose said as the two women transferred Abby. Looking up, they saw Lee was leaning over toward Heather and had reached out his little hand, and was repeatedly touching the tip of her straw with his index finger.

As the three of them snickered, Natalie relaxed. With Abby seated in her lap, she put her hands up to her mouth once again, and with a smile on her face she said with amazement. "Two of them. Oh my. I am in soooo much trouble."


	14. Chapter 14

With the new ground rules in place, Adrian felt much more comfortable going into the office. He would do his thing and give a report out to Grier, and soon he knew he would solve the case. Or, so he thought.

Sitting down at his desk, he turned on his computer and studied the various things he had looked at the day before. The crime scenes, the methods, and the damage. He stared at the data and accessed data on the FBI's servers to look at actual crime scene photos. But, he still had the same mental block as before. Something was just under the surface in his memory banks, but in the rarest of instances – he couldn't draw it out. "Dang it, Natalie! Why aren't you here?" he said out loud.

"Has Natalie gone someplace?" asked Grier, entering his office.

"Oh, good morning, Director." Adrian said with a twitch of the neck. "Uh, yes. She is visiting family in California."

"I see. I suppose she took those two beautiful little rugrats with her then?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, she did." He replied.

"Well. She deserves it. I hope she takes some time and just pampers herself." Grier said.

"I'm sure she will." He replied, looking back at his computer.

.

"Say, what are you working on?" she asked.

"This? Oh. The case. Just looking over evidence. By the way, you never told me who told you about the chatter." He said.

"No, I didn't. Truth is, I'm not at liberty to divulge my sources." She said, sitting on the far edge of his desk and crossing her mini-skirt covered legs a few feet from him.

"Not even to your Associate Director?" he asked, instinctively not looking towards her.

"Well…perhaps. If you'll have dinner with me tonight." She said, leaning in seductively.

Adrian suddenly became very uncomfortable. "Um…I…uh…" His mind froze. Come on, Monk! Think!

"What do you say? You have to be lonely without the wifey at home. And, I have this wonderful recipe for Salmon Teriyaki that I wanted to try. It would be a shame to have to eat it alone." She purred.

"Sorry, but I'm um…" he fumbled over his words, then looked around his desk, spotting Natalie's photo. "I'm fasting!" he finally spat out.

"Fasting?" Grier answered, crossing her arms in displeasure. "Since when?"

"Since, um…this morning. I have been putting on a few pounds and decided to go on a fast so that I can look my best when my wife…to whom I'm very happily married…comes home. But thank you for asking." He said.

Grier stood and walked behind Adrian's chair. Resting her forearms on his shoulders, she leaned in close to his face and whispered in his ear. "I think you look great."

Adrian swallowed hard and shifted positions nervously in his chair. "Th-thank you, Director Grier, but I…"

"Oh, Adrian – please, call me Sharon." She said, standing up and sitting on the desk directly in front of him.

As Adrian straightened a few papers on the desk and adjusted the angle of his computer monitor, she reached forward and put her hand just under his chin.

"Adrian, look at me!" she said, raising his face to where he was forced to look straight at her.

Leaning towards him, she said "Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy a man with a mind is to me?"

"No. Not really. But, do you really think that is appropri…" he mumbled.

"Oh, Adrian. We're two consenting adults. I know you're lonely. And what Natalie doesn't know won't hurt her." she smirked, running her hand through his hair.

"Wh…wh..what are you saying?" he said in disgust.

"I'm saying ...I'm tired of talking!" she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him full on the lips.

Utter horror rushed through Adrian's veins and his eyes screamed in terror as he watched this woman do what was only Natalie's prerogative to do. Quickly, panic overtook him and he reached for his desk to push himself away. Grier would not let go. Finally, he jumped up out of the chair, breaking Grier's grip and nearly toppled her from the desktop. Grabbing his jacket he rushed out the door in a frenzied daze. He had to get out of there. He didn't know where he was going, but he had to go.

Grier stood up from the desk, and straightened her skirt and then sneered. Sitting down in Adrian's chair, she opened his notes to see what information he had derived thus far. Realizing how little he had accomplished, she sat back in a huff.

"You mean I did all of that for _this_?" she said in frustration. Picking up the phone, she dialed out. After a moment, the other line picked up.

"This is Sharon...Yeah. I did what I said I was going to do... No. He's got nothing. I don't get it. Most brilliant mind in law enforcement with total access to all our data, and he hasn't picked up a single thing. I guess we're going to have to force the issue. Have someone claim responsibility... Yeah. I'll have my operatives kick it into gear in Texas. Monk would be good to lend legitimacy to this case, but he's not absolutely required... What? Okay. I'll get right on it." She said, hanging up the phone.

* * *

That evening at Ambrose and Heather's house, Natalie sat around the dinner table with the Monks and the Stottlemeyers. With the exception with Adrian not being present, it was like old times. But then again, he _was_ present in everyone's thoughts and spirits as talk about him, his life growing up, and the change they all had seen in him since he and Natalie got together dominated the conversation.

"Was Adrian always interested in crimefighting?" Natalie asked, enjoying the chance to get to know things about her husband that she had never heard before.

"Oh. Oh yes. Adrian was always an adventurer. When dad used to read to us from Sherlock Holmes, he would always play Sherlock and I was always Mycroft, Sherlock's eccentric brother. He never begrudged me if I would find a clue, but most often he would find them first because he was more willing to stick his neck out. I'm sure he's loving the job at the FBI." Ambrose said.

"Why do you say that?" TK asked.

"Well, when he was probably six years old, Dad took us to a drive-in movie theatre where they were showing the movie G-Men with James Cagney. He got really interested in the FBI through that, and we used to even play cops and robbers with Adrian as the G-man coming to arrest me, the mob boss. Then, in high school, I know he used to be into the reruns of that show _The Untouchables_ about Elliot Ness. Even though Ness technically wasn't FBI, it was still right up his alley. I figured with him being so adventuresome, he'd end up joining the FBI or CIA once he got out of college. But then, he met Trudy, and he became a cop." Ambrose said.

"That explains why he had me go to the bookstore before the store opened that one time so that we could pick up the Biography of J Edgar Hoover the minute it hit the shelves." Leland added.

"Wow. The things I'm learning. I'm sure you're just full of stories!" Natalie said, relaxing in good company.

* * *

Just then, her cell phone rang its familiar tune.

"Oh, that's me. Just a second. Could be my parents wanting to know where we are." She said.

Walking to her purse, she pulled out the phone and saw that the call was coming from Adrian's cell phone.

She furrowed her brow. "That's odd. It's Adrian. He's been texting me to give me space. I wonder if something is wrong?"

As her friends at the table stopped talking to let her take the call she answered, "Hello? Adrian are you okay?"

"Natalie. This isn't Adrian. It's Preacher." The officer said.

"Preacher? How how are you?" she asked.

"I'm okay. It's…it's Adrian. Something has happened." He said.

Natalie's heart sank and she stumbled to find a seat. "S-something's happened? Is he okay?"

Fear and concern struck the faces of everyone present at the dinner table.

"Physically, yes." Preacher said. "Mentally…not so much. I …I don't know what has happened. I can't get him to make any sense. He…he just came rushing into the house and upstairs yellin' and hollerin' that he needed some mouthwash. Lot's and lots of mouthwash. I'm surprised he doesn't have chemical burns on his lips because he gargled for over an hour and used up two whole bottles of the stuff and then brushed his teeth and lips about 4 times."

"What? Why did he do that?" she asked.

"He wouldn't say. He just kept pacing and saying something like 'Natalie, I didn't do it. It wasn't me. Oh what am I going to do? It was all her. I tried to stop her.' Over and over and over again he kept saying it. I tried to get him to calm down, but then he just sank to the floor and started crying. He kept saying your name and saying he was sorry but it wasn't him. I…I don't know what he's talking about. I've never seen him like this. What do I do?" Preacher said.

Natalie was relieved that something hadn't happened to him physically, but she quickly slipped into her old role as nurturer and protector when she realized he was having some sort of mental crisis brought on by some 'she' that had thus far remained unnamed.

"Put him on the phone." She said.

"I…I'm not sure he can even respond to you. He's just sitting there now staring and muttering to himself." Preacher said.

"That's okay. He'll listen. Please, just put him on the phone." She said.

Preacher walked over to Adrian, who was oblivious to his presence, and tried to give him the phone. When he wouldn't take it, he held the phone up to Adrian's ear and told Natalie that she could speak.

"Adrian. Adrian, honey. Can you hear me?" she said.

Adrian continued to stare straight ahead, as she called out his name a couple more times. Finally, he blinked as he realized that it was her. He looked at the phone and then took it from preacher. Putting the receiver up to his ear he finally spoke.

"N-Natalie?" he said.

"Adrian, yes. It's me, honey. It's Natalie." She said.

"OH NATALIE! I'm So Sorrrrrrry!" he cried, mumbling intelligible things into the phone that sounded like pure gibberish to her.

"Adrian, slow down. Listen to me. Honey. It's okay! Slow down. What happened?" she said tenderly.

"Natalie...it was awful...I...I was in my office and…I told him that I did not want to work with her…but she just came barging in…" he sobbed, gulping in big breaths of air between phrases.

"Who? Who came barging in?" she asked. "Grier?"

"Y…Yes…." He said through tears. "Sweetheart…I didn't want for it to happen…you have to believe me…."

"What? What did she do, Adrian." She said. "What did she do to you?"

"I told him to make her not to work with me." He said, mangling his grammar a bit.

"You told who?" Natalie asked.

"John. John Stoddard." He said.

"You told the President that you did not want to work with Grier. But she is working with you anyway?" She said.

"He promised I wouldn't have to." Adrian said.

"That's fine, Adrian. What did the woman do to you?" she asked.

"Oh, don't make me tell you…" he cried. "I can't tell you."  
"Adrian, I promise, you can tell me anything. Honey, I love you. You can tell me anything. You're not in trouble." She said.

Adrian sniffed hard…."Oh gosh….mucus…mucus….wipe! I need a wipe!"

Preacher rushed to his aid and handed him both a box of Kleenex and a packet of wipes.

"ADRIAN! FOCUS! What did that buh…w-woman do?" she asked in frustration. Suddenly she heard him blow his nose on the other end. She cringed.

"Sh…she….oh gosh…"

"Adrian! Tell me!" she ordered.

"She kissed me! She kissed me! Oh crimeny…I'm I'm so sorry, Natalie. I told her I didn't want…she wanted me to have dinner…I told her I was fasting…she, she wouldn't take no…" he said.

Natalie put her hand to her face and closed her eyes as he rambled on. She knew in her heart of hearts that he was completely innocent in the matter, not only because she knew how he felt towards her but also the idea of swapping spit with someone like Grier was likely to send his germaphobia into overdrive.

"Okay…Adrian…honey…listen to me." She finally said. "I believe you and I trust you. Pull yourself together. It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I know you didn't want that to happen."

"I didn't. I'm so sorry." He sniffed.

"Stop apologizing. Calm down and take a deep breath and go let Preacher make you a soothing cup of tea or something. Just relax. It's going to be okay. I promise. Don't beat yourself up any more. I'm not mad at you. I love you. And.. And, I'm coming home. Don't worry about a thing. If John Stoddard won't do it, I will take care of Ms. Grier!"


	15. Chapter 15

Natalie said her farewells to the Davenports and made arrangements for the first flight out of San Francisco the next morning, with a non-stop planned arrival in DC by 11:15 AM.

Adrian and Preacher arrived at Reagan International at 10:00 AM so that he would be sure not to miss her arrival. They sat in the first seat in the waiting area where they were able to see arriving flights as they came in.

They hadn't taken time to eat breakfast, so Preacher ran to the Airport coffee shop and brought back two coffees and some donuts.

"Here, man. I brought you something to eat." Preacher said to Adrian who sat tall, holding a bouquet of roses and stretching his neck, looking for Natalie's arrival.

"No. That's okay. But thank you." He said.

"Man, you haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. You need some nourishment." Preacher said.

"I… I can't." he said, smiling. "I…I'm all jittery inside. Do…do I look okay?" he asked.

Preacher looked at his friend and chuckled. "You look like you always do."

"Really?" Monk said, suddenly looking towards the floor. "That's, that's too bad."

"Naw, man. You look fine. You look just fine." He said, patting him on the back.

* * *

At precisely 11:15 AM, Natalie's plane touched down. As usual, Lee had been pretty much wonderful on the flight, sleeping most of the time and studying things the rest of the flight. Abby, on the other hand, had been emotional the moment the pressure changed in the cabin upon takeoff. For three hours of the flight she would not stop crying, making Natalie a nervous wreck. Finally, Natalie was able to coax her to sleep by singing one of the songs that Adrian sang to her when he put her to bed. By the time the plane landed, both children were perfect little angels and one would never guess the turmoil that had just transpired.

The moment Natalie stepped off the plane and rolled the twins out into the waiting area, tears began to flow. Adrian's face beamed and he had a permanent smile etched on his face as he went up to his wife and threw his arms around her and held her tightly. He had been lost without her. Natalie laid her head on his shoulder and rubbed his back, making his lapel wet with her own tears. Having come to a stop, both Lee and Abby began to cry as well, though their parents were somewhat incognizant of this fact. And Preacher wiped away tears from his face as he watched the reunion occurring.

Finally, after a good long while, Adrian pulled back a little bit from the hug and he and Natalie kissed a tender kiss of reconciliation, then he bent down and picked up his children, one by one and cradled them both in his arms. It was a beautiful moment.

* * *

As Preacher drove the couple back towards his house, he explained to Natalie that there was room enough for the entire family in the house, and they could stay as long as they wanted. Natalie thanked Preacher, and indicated that she didn't want to go back to his place just yet.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Take me to the White House, Preacher." Natalie said.

"The White House?" Preacher asked.

"Yes, I need to talk to the President." Natalie explained.

"Natalie, you know you can't just walk into the Oval office. You have to have an appointment." Adrian said.

"Oh, I phoned ahead." Natalie replied. "He'll see me alright."

* * *

The Monks were met by the White House Butler and then by Gloria Stoddard who kissed them both on the cheek and greeted them warmly.

"Natalie! Adrian! I'm so happy to see you!" she said.

"Wonderful seeing you as well, Mrs. Stoddard." Said Natalie.

"Please. Call me Gloria, dear. And who are these two beautiful children?" she said.

"This is Lee, Leland Robert. And the other one is Abby, or Abigail Margaret. They are my and Natalie's twins." Said Adrian.

"Twins! Oh my goodness! Natalie, you must be Superwoman. How on earth do you manage? I would not have the energy." Gloria asked.

"Oh, Adrian is a lot of help." She said. "He's an excellent father."

Adrian looked at the floor bashfully and squeezed Natalie's hand.

"I'm sure he is." Gloria said. "Well, I rounded John up after I received your phone call and he is dutifully waiting in the Oval Office for your visit. If you would like, I can take the children into the staff nursery while you visit. I'm sure you have a lot to say."

John Stoddard looked like a disobedient child who had been placed into timeout when Adrian and Natalie entered the Oval office. He barely lifted his head, before motioning for them to sit in the formal sitting area at the far end of the room. Standing up from the Resolute desk, he picked up some papers and walked to sit beside them on one of the two sofas at the center of the room. As he sat, he was far humbler than they had ever seen him.

"Good afternoon, Adrian, Natalie. I would first like to apologize for my actions in recruiting Adrian to his position. It seems that I was so blinded by the political fallout that I forgot the human element. I'm sure that must have been terrifying, and I deeply regret any rift that it may have caused in your relationship." He began.

Natalie and Adrian both sat somewhat stoic through the apology. With everything they had just gone through, neither one of them was about to give him a pass.

John, uncomfortably shifted in his seat and loosened his collar.

"Furthermore, it is my understanding from talking to Gloria that Sharon Grier acted inappropriately towards you in your office the other day." John stated.

This time, Adrian was the one who squirmed. Not only did he not want to think about it; but he definitely did not want to talk about it since it was personally embarrassing.

"We do not tolerate sexual harassment; regardless which gender is doing the harassing. You are being removed from Grier's command and she is being placed upon administrative leave pending investigation. The cover story is that she will be out attending to family duties, but she has been told that she is to come nowhere near you from here on out." Stoddard said.

"How can you guarantee that, sir?" said Adrian. "With all due respect, you promised before that I wouldn't have to deal with her."

"That's where this contract comes in." said John. "You will still have your same title for optics sake, but I'm contracting a new assistant who will be with you at all times until this case wraps up."

Adrian became agitated. "A new assistant! John, do you just get up in the morning thinking how you can rearrange everyone else's life? You're making decisions about mine without so much as consulting me and choosing someone to assist me without so much as an interview. It's not right!"

John looked up at Natalie and then at Adrian. "Adrian. I can assure you that I did not make this decision lightly. I believe you'll be very pleased with the qualifications…"

"John, you're not hearing me…" Adrian said. Natalie touched his arm. "Honey, let him finish."

Adrian clenched his jaw and glared at Stoddard. "Alright, I'm listening."

"Very well." Stoddard grinned, for the first time since they had been in the room. Seems that both Gloria and Natalie knew precisely what button to push to get their husband's to snap to. "Natalie. I've had my personal attorney draw up the terms of the contract which states as follows. You will serve as Adrian's personal assistant at a salary of $900.00 a week for the duration of this case. The job will also include childcare when needed and will terminate at the end of the case as will Adrian's position, should he so choose."

Adrian looked wide eyed at Natalie but was speechless.

"Thank you, John. Mr. President. I accept these terms and look forward to helping the FBI and Adrian solve this case." She said, sticking out her hand to shake his.

"Are you satisfied, Adrian?" asked John.

"Yes. Yes, sir. I am. One question though, do I still have the same access, or can I have access to more if I need it?" he asked.

"Access is typically need to know, and if you have a need to know I have the authority to grant access. What is on your mind?" Stoddard asked.

"Grier said that the entire case for naming ten cities for attacks was based upon some 'chatter', but she would never tell me from whom the chatter came. Something isn't sitting well with me here, and I think maybe that if I knew from whom the information came, it might open up more clues that we desperately need." Adrian said.

John raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "That sounds fine. I will make sure that you have access to any and all records that you might need. I'm as interested in you are to solve this case quickly, and if that helps, I'm all for it."

"Thank you, sir." Adrian said, as Natalie looped her arm through his. "I truly appreciate it. _We_ truly appreciate it."

* * *

Later that night, Grier sat alone in her penthouse apartment overlooking city skyline. She drew a warm bath to relax from what had been a very difficult day. She had counted on Adrian remaining silent since there was always some level of embarrassment for the victim in discussing being seduced by a superior. With him being just a _tad _neurotic and male, she never thought he would talk. That's why she was shocked when she was called to the Oval Office that morning and told that she would potentially face disciplinary charges over the matter.

If this were not enough, she then had to go tell the man she was working with that she had temporarily, and possibly permanently, lost her access to the information that they needed to carry out their plans. She shivered when she thought about the sinister sound of his voice when he told her that he did not like when people had disappointed him and that there was generally a heavy price to pay for those who did so. But, she assured him that she would find another way and he _seemed_ appeased.

Walking into the bathroom, she let her robe fall to the floor and then walked to the shelves about two feet away from the tub and turned the station to classical music in order to sooth her nerves. The station was just finishing its newscast and had launched into weather. There were storms on the horizon. "Good sleeping weather." She thought.

Stepping into the tub, she put a mask over her eyes and let warm water soak into her tense muscles. The radio began playing "_Vesti la Giubba" _and she let her mind drift into thoughts about what she was going to do to recover. She surmised that Natalie had something to do with her administrative leave and thought about different ways that she would turn it around and have her revenge. Regardless, the Monks would not get by with this outrage!

As Pavarotti launched into the climactic notes of the aria, she became further immersed in the water and the song to the point that she did not hear the man in black enter the room. Neither did she pick up on the sound of him walking over to the shelf, nor when he picked up the radio. No, she sensed nothing at all except the rapturous emotion of the song that played until it was stopped when the radio was dropped into the watery grave that was the end of Sharon Grier.


	16. Chapter 16

As the blue light of the full moon shone through their bedroom window and washed over their blanketed forms, Natalie laid her head on Adrian's chest and they had the talk that they should have had weeks prior.

"Alright, I have to know. What did you say to Gloria Stoddard that was able to make John do what he did?" Adrian asked.

"Oh, I just told her what happened, and I talked to her wife to wife. She and John have not always had the easiest of marriages, but if there is anyone who lives with a constant fear concerning their husband's welfare it is the first lady. I appealed to her in that sense and I let her know not only what Grier had done, but how John was acting and how unnecessary it had been. We would have cooperated with him had he just talked to us. As it stood, his rash action hurt both of us greatly.

"Well, it seems to have resonated with her." He replied.

"Yes. It does. Honey, I want to apologize to you for not giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. I was wrong for doing that and probably could have saved us all a bunch of grief had I just simmered down and listened." She said.

"You were upset. Rightly so. And, so was I. I was honestly more upset that they had upset you than I was over myself at the time I talked with you, although before, when I didn't know what they were doing, it was pretty scary. I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to tell you about what they were doing with Grier before they blasted it on the news. These kind of career choices are things we should talk with each other about together. And, I never would have handled it that way if I had been given a choice." He said.

Natalie rolled over so that she was lying face to face with Adrian, placing both of her forearms in a straight line across his chest, and focused on a button on his pajama top. Then she smiled.

"There's the smile I love." He said, leaning forward and kissing her. "What's it about?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about how marriage has brought out another side to you that I didn't anticipate. Who knew that Adrian Monk could be so sensitive to another person's feelings?" she said.

"What does that mean?" he asked, not sure whether to take it as a compliment or insult.

As if reading his mind, she quickly added. "Adrian, you've grown so much since I first met you. When we first met you were all wrapped up in you. You could be protective, but sometimes I wondered if you were protecting me or some service I provided for you that you didn't want to lose. I don't feel that way now."

He listened.

"Do you know the moment I first knew that I was falling for you?" she asked.

"No. Tell me." He said.

"It was when we were in that traffic jam. You were the most difficult and cantankerous human being imaginable on that trip, but when you pushed fear aside and unbuckled your safety belt to come save me…like my white knight on his shining stallion." She said.

"Or your defective detective on his police car?" he replied.

"NEVER call yourself defective detective. I know that Randy and others have called you that through the years. But, you're who God made you to be, and if you weren't the way you were there would be so many more bad guys out there roaming about and probably a lot more people would be dead.

You're brilliant and handsome and have a heart of gold. Lucky me!" she said. "Of course, you loved Trudy too much to even consider a relationship with me at the time, so I had to suppress my feelings. Then, I sorta gave up on anything happening between us and decided I would go for second best. Adrian, I loved Stephen, but he was always second best. I never stopped loving you."

Adrian smiled and kissed her forehead. "Do you know when I knew I first loved you?"

"No. No, I don't." she said.

"When I had to go on the run and faked my own death. I had to leave you. I didn't know if I ever would see you again. But, I knew for your protection I had to go and I couldn't tell you. That killed me inside." He said.

"When I thought you were dead." She said, "My world came crashing down around me. I was utterly heartbroken. Devastated. And then to have it happen at the hands of Leland, our friend. Painful beyond words."

"We had to do it that way." He said.

"Oh, I know that now. But when I saw that newspaper article and how 'Leland Rodriguez' had solved a case…" she began to cry "My heart was absolutely overwhelmed with the greatest joy and relief and an overwhelming urge just to get back to you as soon as possible. I jumped right in my car and went over to the police station and confronted Leland."

"He told me you were upset." Adrian replied.

"Upset! I was a bundle of emotions. I was angry, upset, excited, relieved, frankly I was overwhelmed. I felt like beating him to a pulp for hiding it from me. He told me not to go to you…" she said.

"You almost got us killed." Adrian replied.

She chuckled. "Yeah, there goes that impetuous spirit again... Wow! Now there is a moment of self-realization. When I get upset I tend to act before I think."

"You care." He said.

"About you. About us. Adrian. I never want to let anything ever happen to drive a wedge between us ever again. The past couple of weeks have been awful. I don't want to do that any more." She said.

"I agree. We need to better communicate. I'm willing to work on that." He said.

"Me too." She said, kissing his chest and laying her head beside his neck.

As her warm breath wafted across his Adam's apple, he bit his lower lip.

"Hey Natalie…" he finally said.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Do you…do you wanna neck?" he asked in the most endearing manner possible.

She stifled a laugh and then looked up at his face with a smile, biting her lower lip.

"You know. I thought you'd never ask." She said, as they enveloped their arms around each other and began to kiss, bathed in lunar rays.

* * *

At 7:00 AM their bliss was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Preacher. He opened the door just a little and poked his head in as the couple stirred from their sleep.

"Hey guys." He said, not looking their way. "I'm sorry to have to wake you two up, but we've got trouble and I thought you would like to know."

"What? What's wrong?" asked Adrian.

"It's Sharon Grier." Preacher replied.

"Grier! I thought we weren't going to have to deal with her anymore!" Adrian said.

"You're not." Said Preacher. "She's dead. Electrocuted in her own bathtub. Just came over the police scanner. I'm heading over there now. Thought maybe you'd like to check it out." He said.

"We'll get ready." Natalie replied.

"Yeah." A dazed Adrian said in agreement. "We'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

As he shut the door, Adrian and Natalie looked at one another. Grier, dead? That was not news they expected to wake up to.

"Grier is dead?" Adrian said.

"I'll jump in the shower, since it takes me longer to dry my hair." She said.

"What are we going to do with the babies?" he asked.

She looked at their sleeping little bodies and thought. "I guess we will have to bring them with us. As long as we're in DC, however, I need to find someone we can rely on in order to watch them."

"I agree. It'll be awkward today, but we've got no choice." He said.

"I could always call in Hurricane Peggy." She said.

"Not enough room for her." he replied.

"Oh, I know there isn't enough room in Preacher's house for another person." She said.

"No. Not enough room in the city." He replied.

She shook her head. "Oh, Adrian. You know you like her. And she even complimented you."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes. She did. She is happy we found each other and says you are perfect for me." She said, walking into the bathroom and turning on the water.

"Hmmm… well what do you know?" he replied. "Well as long as she treats my wife with respect, that's all I need."

"See you out here in 15 minutes." She said behind the closed door.

"Okay. See you then." He responded.


	17. Chapter 17

Preacher lifted the crime scene tape and flashed his badge as Adrian and Natalie, with kids in tow in their double stroller, entered Grier's Penthouse. Walking up to Captain Bennett, whose jurisdiction it was, Preacher introduced the Monks to the officer and let him know that Adrian was the Associate Director of the FBI and that Natalie was his assistant.

The Captain raised an eyebrow.

"The Department of Justice is recruiting them awfully young these days aren't they?" he asked, looking at Lee and Abby.

Natalie chuckled, embarrassed. "Sorry sir, we weren't able to get a sitter for them on such short notice."

"That's alright." He said. "Just try to keep them out of the way."

* * *

Grier's body had already been taken to the morgue, but photographs were taken both to be developed and as a preliminary view using a cell phone.

"Everything here looks to be accidental" said the Captain. "From what we can tell, she was taking a bath and reached up to adjust the radio, accidentally pulling the unit into the tub. Classic electrocution."

Adrian lifted his hands and looked around the room, examining each aspect for anomalies.

"What's he doing?" Bennett asked Preacher.

"Thinking. Just watch and be amazed." He said, folding his arms in front of him in confidence.

Just then, Lee began to cry which in turn set Abby off. Natalie tried to quieten the two babies and got Abigail to calm down by picking her up, but Lee continued to wail. Natalie bent over and checked his diaper to see if he was wet, but he was fine. She shrugged her shoulders at Adrian who by now had put his hands down and was looking over her way since the crying was destroying his ability to think.

"I don't know what's wrong." She said, at which point Adrian stopped what he was doing and went over and picked Lee up and held him with one arm by his side. The baby stopped crying.

"He just wanted to be held." She said.

Adrian kissed his baby head and then raised one hand and tried to do the scan thing again.

"This is not going to work." He said in frustration. "Do we have one of those slings?"

"Ah, got one right here." Natalie said, fishing into the bag at the back of the stroller. She helped him put Lee in the sling and then strapped him to Adrian so that he was facing forward. This seemed to do the trick since Adrian had full use of both hands.

Adrian recommenced his examination of the area and walked over by the bathtub.

"So, you're saying that the radio was sitting, where?" Adrian asked, pointing down.

"Well, one would assume, it was right about here." The captain stated, pointing a narrow flat spot on the tub.

"Right there?" Preacher said. "Not very smart."

"Well, we can't really see any other spot wide enough to accommodate the radio." Said the Captain. "Plus, it had to be right there for her to pull it in."

Adrian continued his room scan and walked over near the shelf, two feet way from the tub.

He looked at the outlet next to the shelf and thought about the length of cord stretching to the edge of the tub. It would be close. As he calculated in his head what it would take, Lee reached out his hand and began banging on the surface of the shelf and talking. This broke Adrian's concentration again and Natalie took notice. She could tell Adrian was trying not to get aggravated but was losing that battle. Quickly, she walked over to relieve him of Daddy duty. Reaching out her hands for the baby, Lee was baby-talking up a storm and smiling as he reached for her.

"Don't be getting too used to this, young man!" she said as they made the transfer to her free hip. "It's going to be a number of years, if ever, before you go following in Daddy's footsteps!"

Adrian smiled and ran his hand across his son's dark curls, then he turned around and raised his hands for a third time, focusing on the shelf. His mouth opened slightly and he bent down and looked at the shelf more closely. A slight smile came on his face.

"What is it?" Preacher asked.

"Maybe not such a long time." He said, with one hand above the shelf and one tracing where the length of cord would have gone.

"Say what?" Preacher asked.

"What do you see?" asked Natalie, as she, Preacher and Bennett gathered and watched.

Adrian looked at the Captain. "Where is the radio now?" he asked.

Bennett walked over to a duffle bag and pulled out an evidence bag which contained the radio.

"Right here." He said, taking it out and bringing it to Adrian.

"Turn it over." He said, at which point the Captain obliged.

"There!" Adrian said. "Look at those feet."

"What about them?" asked Bennett.

"The feet have a unique scalloped pattern to them…" he said, walking to the shelf. "Just like the imprint left in the dust on this shelf."

The group walked over and looked at the shelf, and there, next to the baby handprint was a perfect match for the feet on the bottom of the clock.

"Selby, get over here and get this photographed, and then I want it dusted for prints." said the Captain.

"Any sign of a forced entry?" asked Adrian.

"None." Said the Captain.

Adrian walked into the main apartment and looked around. In the kitchen he saw two wine glasses but the liquid was dried up indicating that they had been sitting there for more than 8 hours.

"She had a visitor recently." Monk said, pointing out the glasses. "But not recent enough to have been there to kill her."

Next, he walked over to the door itself and gave it a tug. Nothing happened. Bending down, he looked at where the latchbolt met the plate.

"Captain!" he said. "Right here."

Adrian took out his tweezers and gently tugged at an almost imperceptible length of material.

"What is it?" Preacher asked.

"Tape. Someone placed a piece of tape over the door latch, keeping it from fully engaging. Gentleman, I'm afraid that Ms. Grier's death was no accident." Adrian said.

"How on earth did we miss that?" said Bennett. "Selby, did you get those prints? I want the team going over this place with a fine-toothed comb. Adams, I would like you to run downstairs and see if the night watch man has any surveillance video from last night and…how old would you say the wine in the glasses is, Mr. Monk?"

"I would say maybe eighteen hours." Said Adrian.

"Okay, ask him to get me the last twenty four hours to be safe." He ordered as Adams took off out the door.

"Oh my word. Someone done killed the FBI director." Said Preacher, shaking his head.

"Yep. Someone done did." Said Adrian.

"The question is 'why?'" Natalie said, looking over at her son. "Got any ideas there, Detective Monk?" then looking back at Adrian who just shook his head. "Poor kid."


	18. Chapter 18

The mood in the Situation Room was somber and tense. Cabinet level officials and staff (including Adrian and Natalie sans their children who were left in the staff nursery) sat stunned at the news that Sharon Grier had been murdered. They had just been with her in a cabinet meeting earlier that week, but now she was gone. Adding to the strain was that nobody knew a possible motive. Was this someone she knew and perhaps quarreled with? Or was this a more general attack, directed at the government? With all of the shenanigans going on in the country, and no known suspect for the bombings, they all wanted answers.

Deputy Director Kennedy appeared the most broken up of all the group. Second in line at the FBI, he worked closely with Grier throughout her tenure and was the assumed heir apparent for the role of FBI Director. He nearly collapsed when the word came out that she was killed ,and now sat in still silence waiting for the President to enter the room and announce that he was being brought into the inner sanctum of the intelligence world.

They were about to have their second surprise

All eyes were on John Stoddard as he entered the room with Vice President Neil Cole, Attorney General Matt Fitzhugh, and a longtime friend of the President, Attorney David Abramson.

Abramson was a 72 year old semi-retired lawyer from Richmond, Virginia. He had served in the nation's Fourth Circuit court of appeals for over 40 years, and before that worked as a prosecuting attorney in various venues in DC, Boston, New York, Chicago and Atlanta. A widower, he was known as the "Silver Eagle" for his love of country and his keen perception in legal matters. Stately and yet disarming in appearance, he could slit your throat in court and you wouldn't know it until you turned your head.

"Good Morning." The President said as he took his seat. "Or should I say 'greetings' as there is obviously nothing good about this morning. By now, I know you all have heard about the unfortunate demise of FBI Director Grier. It is my understanding that the press has heard of it as well, which means, gentlemen…and ladies (he said, looking over at Natalie who sat at the periphery of the room), in a few moments you will exit this building and will likely be peppered with questions concerning this matter. You may say one of two things. 'No Comment.' Or 'The administration is investigating this matter and will have more information for you at the press conference today at two o'clock.' Questions?"

"Sir, do we have any idea who did this?" asked DHS lead Susan Fleming.

"No, Director Fleming we don't." said the President. "We do not at this time believe that is related to the recent bombings throughout the country, though we are keeping all options on the table and have ruled nothing out."

"Did…did she suffer?" asked Kennedy, with tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Natalie and Adrian both thought it an odd question to ask, but did not let on.

"I don't believe so, Kennedy, at least not for long. Death would have been fairly sudden." The President replied. "Anything else?" he asked.

Nobody said a word.

"Alright then. The challenges facing this nation are immense. Domestic terror is on the rise. We obviously can not leave a post such as the FBI Director unfilled for any length of time. Therefore, I would like to announce that I am nominating David Abramson here as my pick to head up the agency." Said Stoddard.

Mouths dropped open and eyes turned to Kennedy who looked blankly at the President.

"Abramson comes to us with over 50 years experience in the nation's legal system, including in some of the key areas where we have recently had trouble. It is my belief that having a fresh set of eyes working with Deputy Directors Kennedy and Monk, as well as Ms. Fleming, will help expedite the solving of the IED case as well as Ms. Grier's death.

Kennedy, this in no way reflects on your performance. But, I believe given the circumstances that it is best to not put you in the spotlight since you and Grier worked so closely together and there is likely some grieving to do.

Now, if there are no other questions, I have a meeting with the Prime Minister of Canada in the Oval in a few minutes, so I need to be heading out."

* * *

After the meeting, Adrian and Natalie walked over to join Garrison Kennedy and Acting Director Abramson for a short discussion concerning game plan. Garrison seemed more stunned than when they saw him after the announcement of Sharon's murder. It would appear that John's tendency to make decisions about people's careers and lives in a vacuum had continued unabated.

Abramson was a name that was familiar to Adrian. He remembered him from televised trials on Courtroom TV in the mid 80s where he argued for the state in some rather high-profile cases before the Appeals Court. The fact that he was John's friend was really secondary to his appointment as FBI Director. He was a darn good lawyer and someone that Adrian had taken note of through the years.

"Deputy Director Kennedy, Associate Director Monk, I'm very pleased to meet you and look forward to working with you. I just happened to be in town visiting my daughter when I received the call from John this morning. I was as shocked as the rest, I assure you, and need a few hours to get my bearings. I would like to meet you at the Hoover building this afternoon at 4:00 PM if you don't mind?" he said. "We can go over the most pressing priorities before us and discuss responsibilities, if you're available."

"We're available, sir." said Adrian. Kennedy said nothing.

"Does that sound okay to you, Kennedy?" Abramson asked.

Kennedy seemed distracted, but looked up. "Yes…yes, that is okay."

"Great! I'll see you then!" said Abramson, as he walked off towards the main hall of the White House.

Adrian and Natalie watched as Kennedy stumbled over to where his notebook still sat on the table. He picked it up as if in a daze and then began to make his way towards the door. The Monks intercepted him.

"Garrison. Are you..are you okay?" Adrian asked.

"I, I'm fine." He said quietly, not looking up.

"You don't seem fine." Said Natalie. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Adrian looked over at Natalie, surprised by her boldness, and then looked back at Kennedy.

Kennedy looked up and around the room to see if there were any other listening ears. Then he spoke slowly and measuredly. "No, Mrs. Monk. I didn't." he said. "I hated her."

Natalie's lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened.

Adrian tried to make sure he heard right. "You _hated_ her?" he asked, with furrowed brow.

"Sharon Grier was a wicked and manipulative witch. If she felt she could get something from you, she would cozy up to you and pour on the charm. If you were of no use to her, however, she would toss you away like yesterday's news." He answered.

"Yet, you worked for her for years." Said Natalie.

"I had to." He said.

"Had to?" asked Adrian.

Kennedy looked disturbed and began to turn away. Adrian grabbed him by the arm. "Please explain what you meant by that, you had to?" he asked.

Kennedy looked at him, not with the look of steel from moments prior but of regret and sadness. "You work in this town long enough and it changes you. You…you do things that you normally never would have considered. You…you end up owing people that you never would have associated with in your former life. You lose who you were." He looked down, and then back up with a look of fear. "Adrian, Natalie…you are good people. This is not a good place to work. Please, for your sake and your children's sake get out before it is too late." He said. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go. I've already said too much. I'll see you this afternoon."

* * *

Natalie and Adrian picked up some Mexican food and took it back to Preacher's where they ate lunch. They had picked up the babies from the White House Daycare and dropped them off at the Vice President's residence where Neil Cole's teen aged daughter Emily had agreed to watch them in order to earn a little "mad money" for an upcoming trip out of town. This allowed them time to regroup and revisit the cases as they stood before the afternoon meeting.

Kennedy's warning still weighed heavily on their minds. He knew something, or was involved in something that he felt he couldn't get out of. Emotionally, he was quite volatile. They had seen him go from seeming grief to defiance to fear within a short time frame. Was he being blackmailed? It seemed that way. They discussed things and agreed that they would only tell him things that they believed he had a need to know, since they weren't sure whether he could be trusted or not.

While Adrian reviewed news reports concerning the bombings, Natalie looked for evidence from Sharon Grier's crime scene photos that she had the DC police send to her cell phone. The pictures weren't easy to look at, for they showed Sharon's nude corpse, blindfolded and submerged in water with a single hand up to the side of the tub against the wall, as if she had briefly tried to get out of the death chamber; but, Natalie was doing her husband a favor by being the one to look at them and felt like it allowed her to be truly useful in the case.

"Honey, can you make this out?" Natalie asked, pointing out a small tattoo of a wine glass with a star in the middle of it on Sharon's left shoulder. The tattoo had some writing underneath.

Adrian stopped what he was doing while Natalie pointed out the area. Using the zoom on his cell phone, he looked at the writing, and then took a picture.

_"La révolution n'est pas une fête__"_ he said.

"French?" she asked.

"Yes. My French isn't good. La Revolution is obvious for "Revolution", nest pas…"is not"…une…"a or an"..what is _une fête_?" he asked.

"I don't know. Mom knows French though, I'll text her." she said.

About a minute later a return text came in and Natalie read it out loud, "Revolution is not a party."

Natalie looked at Adrian perplexed, but Adrian looked off to the left in recognition.

"What?" she asked.

"You know where that comes from – or something very close to it?" he asked.

"No. Where?" she responded.

"I want to get the exact quote right. Let me look this up on the Goggle World Wide Web Internet Search Tool." He said.

"You're doing that on purpose." She grinned, knowing by now that he knew what Google was and was getting pretty good at using the internet.

He looked back at her while he typed and gave a slightly flirtatious grin, raising his eyebrows up and down.

"Okay, search tool go searching... Here we go." He said. "_A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another. _– Mao Tse-Tung."

"As in Chairman Mao?" Natalie asked.

"Yeah...one and the same." Adrian said, disturbed. "Grier was a Communist?"

"Whoa! The FBI Director? And the access that woman had? What about that part of an act of violence? Do you think she was involved in the recent events?" Natalie asked.

"Nothing shows that at this point, but nothing surprises me either. The tattoo is old. Probably from her college days. I'll tell you what, use those research skills of yours and find me whatever you can on the background of Sharon Grier. I want to know everything the woman was up to from high school forward." Adrian said. "This all is just too weird."


	19. Chapter 19

Garrison Kennedy looked even more out of sorts than before. He was visibly red-faced and sweating as he entered Abramson's office, and was nervously pushing his disheveled hair out of his face with his hand as he walked through the door.

Adrian was already there, listening to stories that his new boss was telling about President Stoddard and their escapades as young men, and Natalie was in Adrian's office, using his computer to look up anything she could find on Sharon Grier.

* * *

"Kennedy. Glad to see you… Are you okay?" asked Abramson, as he sat in a too small leather executive chair that formerly belonged to Sharon Grier.

"Uh. Yeah. Fine. Sorry I'm late." Kennedy said, even though he had arrived less than five minutes after the meeting was supposed to start.

"That's fine. I was just boring Adrian here with stories from my sordid past with John Stoddard." said Abramson. "I won't keep you gentlemen long, since I know it is late in the day and you likely have things you want to do this evening. I've been looking over the case files for both the Grier case and the IED Case, and am interested in your views on things.

But first, I spoke with the police who have run any prints they found at Grier's apartment. They found prints belonging to a professional hitman, Sammy Miller. The only anomaly is that the only time he shows up on surveillance video is the evening of the murder"

"So we still don't know who rigged the door?" Monk asked.

"Right, prior to that, anyone on surveillance either lived in the building or was known to have worked there. Of those that worked there, nobody was at the building during any odd hours. Grier had a maid, but she has been away for 2 weeks visiting family in Puerto Rico, so that pretty much leaves us with someone in the building or someone who accessed the building through some other means.

Concerning the IEDs, there has still been nobody to claim responsibility, however, forensics has a bead on some of the hardware used in the Cannon Building incident. It seems the particular detonation device used is custom made by a company in Alexandria – C&G Demolition. We're working with them now to try to retrieve a list of customers.

What have you gentlemen discovered in your investigations?" Abramson asked, looking at Kennedy as the more senior official.

"Um. Well…we know that there was a list of cities, though we don't know why those specific cities. We're assuming they have some strategic importance. For instance, one of the cities named is Port Arthur, Texas. That is down near our strategic oil reserves. So…we're thinking maybe a foreign entity trying to cause instability." Kennedy said.

"Do you agree with that assessment, Mr. Monk?" asked Abramson.

Monk thought for a moment about how much he wanted to reveal at that time, and decided there was no harm in letting him know the basics.

"Actually, I have a different theory. In the areas which have been struck, you see a lot of similarities and some differences. Several spots used Libyan arms. Foreign powers wouldn't need those. They have their own, unless you are talking about rogue terrorists like Al Qaeda - but they would have claimed responsibility.

Boston used a very sophisticated underwater drone. That could have been foreign but it isn't necessarily required. And the Cannon building, it was a rather simple device that could have been thrown together by your average street gang.

My guess is that this is a domestic terror group with a centralized hub but acting largely as semi-autonomous units. I say centralized hub because of the Libyan implements and the drone. That speaks of some high level of organization and of money. But, if we are to believe the Cannon building is part of the same series of events, and we believe it is, then it's like a smaller group was following a set of general orders from the hub."

"And why do you think nobody has taken responsibility?" asked Abramson.

"If we don't know who they are and what they want, then we can't adequately address the situation. The more uncertainty... the more terror. I agree instability is a goal. I can't see them lying silent forever though." Monk said. "What's the point? Unless they don't really want anything at all and just like blowing stuff up, which is unlikely given the level of sophistication of items such as the drone.

And then there is the issue of how did they get access to privileged information such as Presidential travel routes and the location of the undersea monitor? My thoughts are it came from within this agency." Said Adrian.

"What? Really?" asked Kennedy.

"We're the only centrally organized group to have the access to it, unless you want to believe that there is someone in each agency feeding the central hub the data." Said Monk.

'Makes sense." Said Abramson. "Any ideas who might be feeding data?"

"Possibly." Said Adrian. "But, for right now I would like to hold back on that information until I get a better feel for what we're dealing with."

"Fair enough." Said Abramson. "So…now we have the area of responsibilities and what I would like for you to work on. Mr. Monk, John tells me that you work best without a lot of oversight from the higher ups. I would like you and your wife to continue to pursue the IED case and see what you can find out. Kennedy, I know there is a personal stake in solving Grier's murder, so I'm putting you on her case. See if you can find out who might have hired Sammy Miller.

I would like to have these briefings every other day if possible. We can go more or less if the situation warrants it. Good work, gentleman. I look forward to working with you both."

* * *

When Adrian exited Abramson's office, he made a beeline to Natalie. Opening the door, he announced "Kennedy's involved."

"What?!" she said, looking up from the computer.

"Oh, yeah. He came in looking an absolute wreck. Since we know he did not have positive feelings for Ms. Grier, it wasn't from grief.

He's nervous. He's nervous about something or someone related to the case. And…get this..when Abramson asked him who he thought was responsible, he pointed him towards foreign actors. Right now, we've seen nothing to indicate a foreign government is involved. I believe for some reason he was trying to deflect our attention elsewhere. Have you found anything on Grier?" he asked.

"Uh, yes, and no. Sharon Grier first shows up in the public record in 2003. At that point in time she was working for Senate Majority leader Harry Kingston. I looked up her credentials for her education and they don't pan out. I looked at the specific class lists and there is no Sharon Grier or anyone that matches that name." She said.

"Marriages?" He asked.

"No marriages. No family that I can tell. She just appears out of nowhere." Natalie replied.

"How can the director of the FBI be an unknown? Unless she was previously an intelligence asset. But if that were the Case, they wouldn't want the risk of doxing her by putting her face out there all over the place." Adrian said.

Natalie laughed. "Doxing her?"

Adrian grimaced. " Yeah dox. Out her. Identify who she is. Document her identity."

"I know what dox is. I am just surprised to hear you use the term." She explained.

"Sweetheart, this is 2017. And I am on the internet. Get with the program." he said cockily.

Natalie bit her tongue but made a mental note. _For later use. _

"Alright Bill Gates, if she's not CIA, then what?" she asked.

"Not saying she wasn't . But it would be strange. If Ms. Grier has no known past then someone didn't do their job in letting her climb as high as she did. Let's start with Kingston and find out how he came to know her."


	20. Chapter 20

Harry Kingston was working late preparing for a debate on the Senate Floor that was scheduled the next day. The issue of regulating the internet was the hot topic of the day, and Kingston had been one of the big proponents of the web needing more safeguards.

On the opposite side were those who felt such activity by the government infringed upon free speech. Their champion was a Libertarian Senator from New Hampshire, Dale Michaels. Of course, it all amounted to politics and very little legislation actually got done, but Kingston's poll numbers showed that his constituency favored greater restriction, so that is what he was going to advocate.

Adrian and Natalie walked into his office suite and sat with three twenty-somethings that Harry had brought in as a focus group to craft his message. He didn't want to lose the Millennials so he needed to make sure that his speech from the floor would have a sufficient balance of factual analysis and emotional pull without being offensive to their sensibilities. This was not terribly difficult for a guy like Harry who had been in politics long enough that he was often referred to as "The Chameleon" for his ability to mold and make his image any way he felt his audience wanted to see it.

It was an aide who let Harry know that the Monks were out in the waiting room, welcome news to the older gentleman who was ready for a break.

"All right, let's take a ten minute break. I need to visit with my friends, the Monks." he announced as a separate group of three left his office.

"Who are the Monks?" asked one of the young people leaving the room "Some sort of religious group?"

"No, idiot. Adrian Monk, the Associate Deputy Director of the FBI. Are you sure you live in D.C.?"

Showing Adrian and Natalie into his office, Harry offered them both a drink, which they declined, before sitting down at his desk with a glass of scotch.

"So, what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked.

"Mr. Kingston." Adrian began. "We are looking into some matters for the Department, and we've run into some conflicting information concerning former Director Grier that we hoped you might clear up."

"Grier? Poor woman." Said Harry. "What about her?"

"Well sir," Natalie said, showing him some documents. "We were just trying to scope out whom Sharon may have known that might have wanted her dead, and were doing a basic history of her life. It seems we can't find anything about her before she worked for you. We were wondering if you could give us a little information about her background."

Kingston took a sip from his glass and then looked at both of them.

"I really don't know anything about her. Never did. She was recommended to me by the Party Chairman who said she had impeccable credentials. If she was good enough for her, then she was good enough for my office I guess. Anyway, she only worked for me for about six months when she got a job working for the FBI. She started as a lower level assistant to the director of human resources for the Department, and I know she had at least three or four other positions before being elevated. Smart woman. Friendly. Reputation of being a little 'too friendly' at times, if you catch my drift. But I suppose it worked for her – at least for a while."

"So am I to understand that she didn't have to go through any sort of clearance procedure while working in the Senate with you?" Adrian asked.

"Not in the role she had. My Party held all three branches at the time and personal recommendation went a long way." Harry responded.

"This party Chair, where is she today?" asked Natalie.

"Wilma Erdman. She passed away, oh…three or four years ago, complications of Alzheimers." Said Kingston.

"That's too bad." Said Adrian. "Do you know anyone else who knew Grier at the time? Any relatives? Friends?" he asked.

"I remember Sharon, those days, was all work, work ,work. Ambitious. I would say she hit the floor running because she probably knew everyone else's job better than they did by the end of her six months here." Kingston answered. "However, now that I think of it, she was friendly with Damon Brown."

"The former intelligence chief?" Adrian asked.

"Yes. I remember wondering if the two were dating. Just a passing thought as I saw them eating dinner together one day. I think he might have had something to do with her being offered a role in the Intelligence world." He said.

"And where is he today?" asked Natalie.

"He went back into law. Works out at Berkeley Started a tremendously successful consulting firm. You will see him a lot in Forbes top 100 richest men in the country." He said. "I think I heard recently that he has slowed down a bit and might be teaching out there now."

"Good to know" said Natalie.

"Glad I could be of assistance. Now, if you two don't mind, I am trying to prepare for my debate with Michael's tomorrow. Do you think I should go with a red tie or a blue tie?" he asked.

"Which side of the debate are you taking?" asked Natalie.

"Pro-regulation." Said Kingston.

"Oh, then definitely blue." She said, with no explanation.

"Blue it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my college kids. I'm paying them by the hour."

* * *

On the way to the car, Adrian asked Natalie about why she chose the blue tie over the red one.

"It's a reference to 'The Matrix.'"She said.

"The Matrix?" he asked.

"That movie with Keanu Reeves in it. Red Pill/ Blue Pill." She said.

Adrian looked confused.

"In the movie he is given a chance to decide on if he wants to see life as it really is with all of its ugliness and beauty. You know, the harsh reality of things. That is the red pill. Or, does he want to live a life of blissful ignorance. Sheltered from that reality. That's the blue pill." She said.

"So, by saying he wants to regulate or sensor, you're saying Harry's trying to give a 'blue pill' to the populace?" he asked.

"Exactly." She said.

"You know, that wouldn't be all bad. There is a lot of harsh reality that I wish I had never seen." He said.

"True. But, then you wouldn't have lived life. A wise man told me that I shouldn't let fear rob me of life. I would add that you shouldn't allow any of the potentially bad things that might of might now happen ruin it for you." She said.

"He sounds like an optimist." Adrian said.

"He's your brother." She said with a roll of the eyes.

"Ambrose told you that?" Adrian said.

"Yes. We haven't gotten to talk about my visit with him. He's up for an award with the Booksellers again. It's next month. This time, the people who own the Allen Wrench patent want to give him a life time achievement award. Here." She said, getting into and unlocking the car, then fumbling through her purse and pulling out a piece of paper. "Here is the agenda."

Adrian buckled his safety belt and then took the paper and studied it, noting the events on Thursday night when the Awards Ceremony was to occur.

_5:00 PM Greetings, 5:30 PM Special Speaker Barton Fosdyck, "The Art of the Short Story", 6:15 Paul Gleason, "Art Books, An Art Form in and of Itself", 7:00 Samuel Asbury "The Reformed Radical: An Autobiograhy", 7:45 Jenny Pauley, "Food for Life", 8:15 Ambrose Monk "The Future in Instruction Manuals", 9:00 PM Awards_

"Ambrose is going to speak?!" asked Adrian with surprise.

"Yes." Natalie said, turning the corner. "And he specifically said that he wants his brother to be there."

Adrian smiled. "I wouldn't miss it. He…he's actually going outside?"

"Heather and he have been baby stepping it. She texted and said took him to a little league game this afternoon." Natalie said.

"How did he do?" he asked.

"Someone spilled a bottle of soda on him, but other than that, she said he did well." Natalie responded.

"I always told him he could do it!" Adrian said, proudly. "He just had to make his mind up!"

Natalie looked at Adrian and grinned. He was adorable when he was like this. So happily lacking in self-awareness.

* * *

After picking the babies up from the VP Residence, Natalie drove them to the grocery store to pick up some diapers. While she went in to shop, Adrian sat in the car and babysat their sleeping children and surfed the internet for the latest weather forecast.

As he sat there, a blue 1972 Chevy Impala convertible pulled up to the park spot at the end of the next row. Two people, he guessed in their early seventies, were blasting songs from their stereo system from the late 1960s/early 1970s, taking Adrian back to earlier times. In his mind's eye he was 13 years old and standing across the street from a similar store back in California. His father had already left, and his mother and Ambrose were refusing to leave the house, so he was pretty much on his own.

He remembered seeing a car pull up, not unlike the one before him, and it was covered in peace symbols and anti-war slogans. There were at least five people in the car, all with long hair, male and female. And, he remembered them smoking some reefer, hanging all over one another, and laughing as the strains of Barry McGuire singing _On the Eve of Destruction_, the same song that was playing in the Chevy at that moment, reverberated through the air.

_The eastern world it is exploding  
Violence flarin', bullets loadin'  
You're old enough to kill but not for votin'  
You don't believe in war but whats that gun you're totin'?  
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin'_

_But you tell me  
Over and over and over again my friend  
Ah, you don't believe  
We're on the eve of destruction_

At the time, the child Adrian watched the spectacle with solemn curiosity. Hippies, a car load of them, partying hard while rather dismal lyrics played loud for all of the world to hear – he marveled at the irony. His parents had told him to stay away from such people, and given their obvious use of drugs it wasn't a bad idea. But now, in his late 50s, having seen a lot of what the world had to offer, he was struck by the idea that they weren't entirely wrong. He was also struck by the fact that how no matter how much things change, things stay the same. He closed his eyes and thought back to those turbulent times.

_…Yeah my blood's so mad feels like coagulating  
I'm sitting here just contemplatin'  
I can't twist the truth it knows no regulation  
Handful of senators don't pass legislation  
And marches alone can't bring integration  
When human respect is disintegratin'  
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'_

_And you tell me  
Over and over and over again my friend  
Ah, you don't believe  
We're on the eve of destruction_

_Think of all the hate there is in Red China  
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama  
You may leave here for four days in space  
But when you return it's the same old place  
The pounding of the drums, the pride and disgrace  
You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace  
Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace_

_And tell me  
Over and over and over and over again my friend  
You don't believe  
We're on the eve of destruction…*_

As the song ended, the ignition to the car was shut up and Adrian opened his eyes, watching as the man got out of the car wearing a t-shirt and shorts which revealed the scar from his recent knee reconstruction surgery. The woman, with greying hair and a body showing the affects of osteoporosis, walked up to him and joined him as they walked slowly across the street. Well…maybe they don't stay the same after all.

Just then, Natalie broke into his thoughts by knocking on the glass of his car, passenger side. Snapping to, he jumped out of the car and helped her load the trunk with bags. In his head, the song was still playing and he was still back in 1972, that young boy being exposed to a different world. As these things percolated through his mind, he suddenly jumped back to the case, thinking of the various cities that were targeted. It was then that he had the thought that would eventually help the whole case to unfurl before him.

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

*Song _Eve of Destruction - _1964 P.F. Sloan


	21. Chapter 21

"Uncle Preacher" sat in the floor playing with Lee and Abby while Mommy and Daddy took a night off to have date night on the Mall. Other than the monuments, most of the attractions were closed, but the city was beautiful at night, and it was nice just to have some alone time together without work infringing upon their privacy.

Bringing a camera along, they determined that they would record the various aspects of the city since they did not expect to be there long. Adrian snapped photos and laughed as Natalie posed dramatically with the water and the lights of the monuments showing in the background. Natalie took the camera and encouraged Adrian to just have fun, but his pictures always ended up looking somewhat stiff, since he tended to get bashful before the lens.

"Come on, Mr. Monk. You can do better than that." She teased. "Show me whatcha got."

"Natalie, that's…that's alright. Really…" he said waving her off. "We have enough pictures of me. It's pictures of you that I want."

"Why?" she said, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Why, what? Why do I want pictures of you?" he asked.

"Yeah. But more than that. What is it with you and cameras? I mean…you had pictures of Trudy all over the house. Then, it wasn't enough to take one picture of Molly…you had to take, what two or three thousand?" she asked.

"Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty six." He said.

"What! You're kidding!" she said. "I had no idea you had that many... why did you stop at 9,956?"

"Because she already gave me 44 pictures from when she was growing up and…" he said.

"9,956 made an even 10,000." She said. "I get it. But…don't take this the wrong way…I know that Molly was a connection to Trudy, but she wasn't your blood relative and in fact, the only time we hear from her now is around Christmas and Trudy's birth and death days…taking that many pictures was a little weird in most people's eyes. Why did you do it?"

Adrian took her arms from around his waist and asked her to come sit with him on the park bench. As they sat and looked over the water, he sat stiffly with both feet planted on the ground and his hands on his knees and thought through her question. It was almost as if Dr. Bell was back asking him some dark question that would unravel a part of his mixed-up psyche.

"I didn't offend you, did I?" she asked, hooping her arm through his.

He looked down at her imploring eyes and grinned a sad grin, then wrapped his arm around her so that her head rested on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.

"No sweetheart. You didn't offend me at all. I guess…I guess it was kind of weird." He said.

"I wasn't saying it was weird…I was saying others would think it was…" she said.

"No. It was weird. And, truthfully, until you asked me just then, I haven't really thought about it that much, but you're right. My entire adult life, I've taken tons and tons of photos. I think, I think it is because of when dad left. There is one album of photos of my family back at Ambrose's house. Only one. In that album there are pictures of my grandparents and cousins and there are a few photographs of me and Ambrose with Dad and Mom as well. Only a few.

After Dad left, Ambrose and Mom basically checked out as well. They lived in the house but _the life_ had left the house. Mom stayed locked in her room for two years and Ambrose did as well, blaming himself for Dad having gone.

All I had of the life I knew before, my life as a young boy in a home with a father and a mother, were those photographs and memories that were sometimes more bitter than they were sweet. But…I had them. And, I guess I learned that this was a way of holding on to a little bit of something that I loved…holding on to memories, moments in time…because then I still have them when the happiness goes away."

Natalie looked up at Adrian. "I'm not going away. I love you."

He rubbed her shoulder. "Everyone leaves, Natalie. If you are the one person who doesn't…"

"I will be." She said. "We didn't go through everything we gone through to get together and let it not have a happy ending. I'm here for keeps."

He smiled, and kissed the top of her head. "Lucky me." He said. "You know, I thought about us earlier today. When we were at the grocery store. There was this couple…he was probably, I don't know, thirteen or fourteen years older than me. She was about the same. You could tell they had been hippies in their youth. Still held on to that past, peace signs, cool car, music…but time marched on and physically they weren't what they used to be. But, they were still together. I hope we're in better shape when we get to be their age, but they still loved each other and I watched them walking each other across the street…him with is cane, and her with her arm around him. I thought of us when we get older… I mean, I'm always going to be married to this hot chick, but what are you going to do with an old man?"

She snickered… "I haven't honestly thought about it. I don't think about our difference in age. We're just going to have to keep each other young…" she said, leaning up and nibbling his ear. A chill went down his smile and he twitched his neck and shoulders out of sheer instinct.

"Natalie!" he said. "We're in public!"

She laughed. "What? I can't kiss my husband in public? Besides. Nobody is around." She said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Kiss me!"

Adrian bowed his head with a bashful grin then closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss Natalie.

Just then, someone jumped out of the bushes and grabbed Natalie's purse, taking off running. Adrian and Natalie were startled from their positions, and as soon as Adrian knew what had happened, he took chase.

"Stay here!" he told her. "STOP!" he yelled toward the running man.

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him across the lawn and through the trees, following shortcuts along the way. This guy clearly knew DC. Running across the street towards the Washington Monument, he jumped the fence and followed the man past the metal barriers that would usually be filled full of tourists, however the monument had been closed for repair of its elevator and the only person around was a night guard, or attendant. On this night, the attendant was busy texting on his cell phone and did not notice both men running past him into the building nor did he realize that someone had gotten into the spiral staircase which hadn't been used by the public in years.

Climbing as quickly as his feet would take him up the stairs, Adrian kept pace with the man who was always about thirty feet ahead. Flight after flight, he kept up, though by the thirtieth flight he felt like he would pass out and he had a side stitch that almost caused him to buckle over. Reaching the top, he entered the observation deck expecting to find the man inside. Since the monument was enclosed the only light in the room was coming through the three-foot observation windows that looked out over the city.

Gasping for breath, Adrian walked slowly through the room trying to catch any glimpse of the thief. About ten feet into the room he heard a shuffle of feet. Spinning around, he had barely caught the silhouette of the man in the light of the window when suddenly he was sucker punched in the gut. Stumbling backward he fell to the floor and then watched the black shadow as it ran back out the door and towards the spiral stairs.

Adrian quickly sprung to his feet and ran to follow. However, when he started down the stairs, he made the mistake of looking down the center of the steps and the sudden realization of how high up he was in the air hit him hard. He became dizzy and began to reel as the room began to spin. Unable to continue, he decided to curl up against the wall until he could regain some composure. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, he picked up his phone and called Preacher.

"Hello?" Armstrong answered.

"Preacher. This is Adrian." he replied.

"Hey man! The little ruffians are doing fine. They are sleeping, if that's what you're calling about." Said Preacher.

"Good. I'm glad. That's not why I am calling. Someone stole Natalie's purse and I took off running after them. I told her to sit still and wait there while I went to get it back. She's should still be down by the water, Tidal Basin near the Roosevelt Memorial. Would you go pick her up? I don't want her sitting there by herself at night." He said.

"Sure, man. Where are you? You sound like you're in a cave." Said Preacher.

"I'm in the Washington Monument. Top of the stairwell. Don't worry about me. I'll get myself down. Please go get Natalie." He answered.

"On my way." Said Preacher.

Rather than wake the children, Preacher called the next door neighbor over to watch them while he went to pick up Natalie.

It took him about 20 minutes in light traffic to get from his home in Mt. Pleasant to where Natalie sat worrying on the park bench near the Roosevelt Memorial, but she was greatly relieved when she heard that Adrian had called and was okay. Making their way towards the Memorial, they arrived just in time to see Adrian stumble out of the building. He had clung to the handrail so hard that his hands were red from the pressure, but he had made it outside. Leaning against the building, he looked up and saw Preacher and Natalie coming, and was disappointed that he wasn't able to get her purse.

Walking up to Adrian, she hugged him tight and said "I'm so glad you're okay! You scared me!"

"I'm sorry." He said, exhausted "He got away."

"Sorry! Adrian, you took an unnecessary risk. My purse is just some material thing. He could have been armed! You could have been hurt!" she said, stroking the side of his face. "Don't ever do something like that again! It's not worth it!"

"I'm sorry. I just want to protect you and what's yours." He said.

"Then protect yourself! I don't care about some stupid purse." Said Natalie.

"Hey guys…" said Preacher, from about twenty feet way near the grass. "What did this purse look like?"

"It's a tan leather satchel. Designed by Armand Bouvier." she answered.

"Is this it?" he asked, walking up to her with a handbag.

"Yes! That's it!" she said, taking it. As she sat next to Adrian she rifled through her purse and took account of everything that was in it. "Cell phone, wallet, credit cards, cash, photographs…It looks like it is all here!"

The three friends looked at each other confused.

"He didn't take anything? That doesn't make sense." Said Adrian. "Why would you steal a purse, make someone chase you across town and up fifty flights of steps, and then not take anything?"

"You're right. That doesn't make sense." said Natalie.

Preacher scratched his head and then suggested going home. "Don't mess around with things too much. Maybe he left some prints. We can take it to the station tomorrow morning and get things dusted."

The couple agreed and walked arm in arm with Preacher back to his car to go pick up their own as they headed for home.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning, Natalie called the FBI and told them that Adrian would not be into the office because he was sick. She wouldn't be in either. He wasn't actually sick, but it sounded better than telling them that her husband had a body that was wracked with pain because as a man in his late 50s he decided to pretend he was in his late 20s and run up 50 flights of stairs. Every muscle in his body throbbed with excruciating pain, or at least excruciating pain in Adrian's world, and she knew in her heart that she was in for a long day of taking care of three babies.

It began as soon as she had hung up the receiver.

"Natalie! Oh, Gosh-Natalienatalienatalie! Come! Come quick!" he said, laying stiff as a board in bed.

As she ran to the bedroom she asked "What? What's the matter?"

"Natalie! I…I can't feel my feet!" he whined. "I…I think that the swelling is so bad in my legs that it has cut off circulation to my feet. Quick! I need another Advil!" he said, beginning to raise his arm but groaning in severe pain from the action.

"Adrian, you have already had three. You shouldn't take any more right now." She said, walking over and fluffing his pillow, much to his consternation.

"I…I can handle it! Just…just give me another Advil! Just one!" he said, reaching out his hand.

"No!" she said. "The side affects are too serious."

"Serious! Natalie, what could be more serious than having the blood cut off from your limbs. If we don't address this now, tissue death will set in and then gangrene! I…I could die!" he gasped.

"You're not going to die!" she said, rolling her eyes.

"I could. I literally could die." He said.

"Adrian, If you're in this kind of pain you need to see a doctor."

"Noooooo…..no doctor! Don't need to see any doctor!" he said. "How about Aspirin? That's not Advil."

"Same class of drugs. Would not be safe to mix." She said. "I'll bring you an ice back."  
"Ice pack! I don't need an ice pack. Ice packs are too cold!" he complained.

"Ice packs help relieve pain and decrease inflammation." She said.

"Motrin! I think I saw some Motrin in the medicine cabinet." He suggested.

"Same class, sorry. Come on, just let me get you the ice. I promise it will help."

"Too cold." He said.

"I'll bring you a blanket." She said

"Noooo….no ice! Too cold. It's too cold! "

"Well what then?" she asked.

He thought for a moment and then opened his eyes wide at his idea. "I know! Go over and get my wallet."

"Your wallet?" she asked.

"Yeah. Over there on the dresser." He said.

Natalie walked over and picked up his wallet.

"Okayyyyyyy, I have your wallet. What now?" she asked.

"Get in there and pull out a ten…no a twenty." He said.

She complied with the request. "Alright? What now?" she asked.

"I need you to go buy me something." He said softly, motioning for her to come over.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Medical Marijuana! Get me some medical marijuana!" he whispired.

"Adrian!" Natalie exclaimed, beginning to laugh.

"It's not funny! People say it helps pain. Go on out and see if you can find me some reefer."

"No! I'm not going to go try and buy you pot!" she said laughing at the request and taking his wallet and twacking him in the foot with it.

"Owwww!" he yelled.

"Look! A miracle! Feeling to the feet is restored!" she said, with a knowing smirk.

Adrian gave her his infamous glare, but she wouldn't budge.

"I'll be back in the few minutes with the ice!" she said, feeling sorry for him but enjoying every moment as well.

* * *

With Adrian out of the office, Garrison Kennedy stayed close to home base, working in his office most of the day. He gave the appearance that he was working on Sharon's case. In reality, he was using special software to bypass the security measures of the agency's system so that he could install keylogging software on the server- specifically in the user folders of Associate Deputy Director Monk and Director Abramson. His obvious goal was to stay in the loop about what was being said and searched for, and to thwart it. If all went well, then his team could stay one step ahead of Monk and his crew until the grand finale of their crime spree.

He waited until every soul had gone home before executing the second part of his plan. As the last person to leave for the day, it was up to him to close the suite. This would entail checking to see that the offices were all secured and then locking the grand suite itself before heading downstairs and signing out with the guard and going home.

He waited for a full half hour to make sure that everyone was indeed gone and would be unlikely to return for some forgotten item, then he made his way through the darkness into the Director's office. With just a small flashlight beam illuminating the dark room, he made his way over to a floor lamp and with gloved hand, gently unscrewed the chrome and brass finial which secured the metal lampshade to the stand. On the end of the finial, he screwed in a small listening device, fashioned for that particular lamp. Finding the make and model of the lamp was easy because the FBI didn't make interior decorating of its executive offices a budgetary priority. Each office was suited with the same basic hardware, desks, chairs, shelves and other furniture. Only in the Director's office would one find additional items such as a television set and an en suite bathroom complete with a large glass shower.

After bugging the director's suite, he moved over to Monk's office. Stepping into the office, he made his way through the darkness over to Monk's desk. Feeling around the edge of the desk, he made his way to the back and then got on his hands and knees behind the chair, feeling along the wall until he reached the outlet. Carefully, he sat on the soft beige carpet behind the desk, holding the flashlight with his chin. Using a small screwdriver, he unscrewed the beige plastic two plug outlet from the wall and laid it on the ground. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a new receptacle to switch out the old. This device was different, however, in that in place of one of the grounding holes, there was a small voice activated spy camera.

He carefully put the receptacle in place and screwed it into plate. Gathering his material, he grabbed onto the edge of Monk's desk and pulled himself up off of the ground – bumping Monk's chair as he did so. Knowing how persnickety that Monk could be, he put the chair back in its place and left the room. His team was now set and he had done his job – staying alive for yet another day.

* * *

By early afternoon, Natalie was seriously considering strangling her husband. He was in a foul mood, arguing and barking orders and acting as if his concerns were the only ones that existed in the entire world. In other words, he was typical Adrian when he felt bad. This in turn put her in a foul mood, which she didn't dare show.

Preacher called at 1:30 PM to check on him and let Natalie know that he was going to go see his nephew, who worked at George Washington hospital, around 5:00 PM to possibly get Adrian some stronger medication. When Adrian heard this, he demanded that Preacher stop work immediately and go to the nephew that very minute, in spite of the fact that the Captain was in the middle of handling a domestic dispute that had turned into a possible hostage situation. Naturally, Preacher ignored the request and Natalie was treated to a monologue by Adrian of how nobody could possibly understand the pain he was in and how she should just take the babies and go and let him die in misery.

At around 3:00 PM, things got even worse. First Lee began to cry and would not stop, which was uncharacteristic. About 20 minutes into Lee crying, Abby started. She felt their little heads and noticed they both felt warm. Taking their temperatures, she determined they had a fever, so she fished through their diaper bag to find a bottle of liquid Tylenol to administer to them. Unfortunately, it was empty.

She called Preacher on his cell phone to ask him to get some medicine for the babies when he saw his nephew, but there was no answer. So, she called the pharmacy and asked them to have some ready for her for when she went through the drive-thru window later that evening. They told her that without a prescription she would have to come into the store. She thanked them and hung up her cellphone and then called Julie for a little sane conversation to help her calm down.

Preacher called her about 5:15 PM and let her know that his nephew Arnold Armstrong had given Monk a prescription for a non-narcotic muscle relaxant that would not make him loopy but would help him to sleep throughout the evening. He had bent the rules slightly in prescribing it, and made Preacher promise that if Monk was any worse in the morning that they would bring him in to see him. The moment he arrived home, Natalie brought the medication up to Adrian and administered the required dose. Within 15 minutes, he was out and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She came downstairs and saw that Preacher had made himself a sandwich and was sitting in his recliner watching the evening news.

"Thank you." She said. "You saved a life tonight."

"Yours?" he asked.

"No, Adrian's." she answered with an exhausted smile. "Listen, Lee and Abby have come down with something and are running a little fever. I'm out of their medication and need to run to the drug store for a few minutes to pick some up. Would you mind staying put and watching them, and Adrian, in case they need anything?"

Preacher started to put down his half-eaten sandwich and began to stand. "I wish I had known while I was out." He said. "You should have called."

"I tried to, but you obviously were busy with more pressing matters." She said.

"Well, I can go for you now." He stated.

"That's okay. I will only be a few minutes. I need to get out and get some fresh air. It's been a hard day." She stated.

"Alright." He said. "Be careful. You're not in the safest of neighborhoods at night."

"Oh, I will be. I'll make sure that I'm not followed, and will be back before you know it."

* * *

Natalie walked out to the street and got into her car and adjusted the mirrors. Looking around she made absolutely sure that there was nobody around before she started the ignition and began to head East towards the store. Keeping her cell phone with her the entire time, she walked confidently and observantly into the store, into the pain reliever/ fever reducer aisle and picked out exactly what she needed to get. As she headed towards the checkout, she picked up a box of chocolate and some snacks to pig out on for when she went home. Checking out, she walked back out to her car, observing the lot the entire way. She quickly unlocked her door and climbed into the car and started the ignition. As she began to accelerate, she felt the cold hard steel of a 9mm semi-automatic pistol against her neck. She stiffened.

"Good evening, Mrs. Monk." Said a male voice from the back seat. "Don't worry. I don't have any intention of hurting you, as long as you behave yourself. I just came to deliver a message."

"Who…who are you" she said, as her heart began to race and her eyes widened with increasing fear.

"My name is Sammy. Sammy Miller." He said.

Fear turned to terror as she recognized him as the man who had killed Sharon Grier.

"Ssssssammy Miller?" she said. "What…what do you want?"

"I need you to drive, ma'am." He said. "Don't make any sudden moves. I come in peace, and I want it to stay that way."

Natalie did as he said and began to accelerate.

"Now, I know that you and your husband work for the FBI, and they are investigating the murder of Sharon Grier and the recent bombings across the nation. I need you to know that my organization is responsible for both. We are the New America People's Liberation Front. We are many, and we are all around the country. We are dissatisfied with the way that this Republic has been run and we will be doing whatever is necessary to bring the change that is required to make it into what it needs to be. You may have noticed, we have thus far avoided civilian casualties. Unfortunately, there have been a few, but unlike before we will not let this dissuade us from our goals. Complete domination of the United States is our goal. Our next target will be in New York City and should be kicking off in about ten minutes. You can not stop it. Nothing you or your husband can do will stop it. I suggest strongly therefore that you leave it alone. Go back to your home in Boston, or even go back to San Francisco and enjoy your life with your husband and those two beautiful children. Forget about D.C. It is a lost cause. Now, turn left here." He said. "Take me down by the river."

She complied. "Why are you involving me in all of this?"

"Because, my boss has a certain affection for your family. He knows how brilliant your husband is and does not want him interfering. Trust me, if he wanted me to kill you, he would not hesitate. The very fact that we are having this conversation…turn right…shows that he means you no harm. If we can do this peacefully…" he said.

"Peacefully? You already killed Grier!" she said.

"Grier had long expressed support for our revolutionary goals and she had done a whole lot for us through the years. But, she was getting sloppy and became a liability. She had to go. That's how it goes. I'm sure you understand." He answered.

Natalie was silent.

"Alright, drop me off right here. You are to call no one until you reach Armstrong's house. You are to give your children their medicine and check on your sleeping husband. You will say nothing until nine o'clock tonight, or our offer of peace is over and you will experience warfare unlike anything you have ever imagined. Do I make myself clear?" he said.

"Yes." She said, looking in the rearview mirror at his hardened face.

"Oh, and in case you doubt that we are everywhere, we have people in the same building that Julie lives in at Harvard. And, we have additional people stationed in San Francisco where your parents and Mr. Monk's brother lives. We can make this very painful, or it can go nice and easy. Your decision. Choose wisely." He said, as he opened the back door and walked through the night towards the river and disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

Natalie threw the car into reverse and made her way back to Preacher's house by 8:15 PM. Preacher was glued to the television set watching news from New York where a large explosion had occurred inside the New York stock exchange causing widespread damage to the building but no suspected casualties since it happened after the bell had rung for the day.

Terrified, she ran upstairs to check on the children and Adrian and shook violently as she tried to pour out the recommended dosage for the children. Looking at the clock, she saw it was only 8:20 and knew she had to calm down. Willing herself to pull it together, she gave the baby's their medicine and then went to check on Adrian who was still in a deep sleep. He finally seemed comfortable, which was the one relief of the night. She waited quietly as the second hands moves slowly across the face of the clock. It seemed like an eternity.

Finally, at 9:00 PM, she called Preacher upstairs and woke Adrian up.

Preacher entered the bedroom, a little put out that she had pulled him away from the coverage, but all ill feelings dropped when he saw her face.

"Preacher, Adrian, we need to talk. Something happened when I went to the market tonight."


	23. Chapter 23

If there was anything that could immediately redirect Adrian's focus from his own misery, it was the knowledge that someone he loved was in danger. Natalie had seen this herself, not only in recent days such as when he rescued her from the Altman Aeronautics kidnapper, but it had been his pattern for years. Whether it was hanging out the window of a moving car to rescue her from a dump truck in a car chase, or throwing aside his fear of heights to the side to come save her on the rooftop, or instructing the voodoo salesman to ram into the back of an ambulance where she was just moments away from meeting her Maker at the hands of a deranged murderess, Adrian always came through for her when it counted most. And, it wasn't only her. She had heard of where he went down in the sewers to rescue Sharona and how he had rescued Ambrose from a burning building. All of this showed that this man Natalie had married was simple in so many ways and complex in others. He gave an appearance, at times, of being in his own little world where nothing else mattered but himself. But, below the surface, his love ran deep and there was no limit to what he would do to ensure that his loved ones were safe. With this in mind, it was predictable that he did not take the news of Natalie's visitor well.

"Natalie! You could have been killed!" he said, with exasperation in his voice.

"I know, I know. But, Adrian, I was only going to be gone a little while." She said.

"It only takes a little while! Preacher! Why didn't you…?" He said.

"I tried. She said no." said Preacher, throwing his hands up.

"Well..h-how did this guy even know you were going? Did you look all around before you got in the car and do what I told you to do to make sure you weren't followed?" he asked, pushing himself out of bed, powering through the pain as a man on a mission.

"Yes! I promise! I did everything you told me to do. I KNOW I wasn't followed. I KNOW it, Adrian. I was very careful." She said, with tears beginning to form.

Adrian did not notice her angst but instead he hobbled stiff-legged through the room seemingly aimless, trying to figure out what he wanted to do. Internally, he was so full of rage that he wanted to hurt someone and hurt them bad. This translated to an external demeanor that was easy to misread.

"Oh, Adrian!" she began to cry out of sheer nervousness. "Please! Don't be angry! I promise! I tried to be careful, I really did!"

Hearing the cry in her voice, Adrian stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes. _What a Jerk I Am! She must be petrified! _ He thought to himself.

Exhaling loudly, he limped over to Natalie and put his arms around her as she buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed.

"Sweetheart. I'm sorry." He said softly. "Please…don't cry. I'm not mad at you. Not at all!"

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"I tried to be careful." She said, her voice muffled in his pajama top.

"I know, sweetheart. I believe you. Natalie…listen….listen sweetheart." He kissed her head again. "Here's the thing…What you just told me was terrifying! And, it made me angry – not at you. Not at all. I'm angry at who did this. I honestly want to hurt him right now. If I saw him, I honestly think I could kill him! Nobody touches you. Nobody."

He took her face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe her tears. "Natalie, sweetheart, look at me. Don't you know it would destroy me if anything happened to you? I would be destroyed! It would be over. There would be no more Adrian." he said.

She bowed her head, "I know. I know. Oh Adrian!" she said throwing her arms around him. "I was so frightened!"

Preacher stepped towards them. "I hate to break this up, but we need some details while they are fresh. You said the man identified himself as Sammy Miller. What did he say to you?"

Natalie stepped back from Adrian's embrace and wiped her face with her hands. Then, she and Adrian went and sat on his bed.

"He knew everything about us. He knew we worked with the FBI and what we were working on. He knew you were sleeping and that I had gone to go get the babies medicine." She said.

"That sounds like he has this place bugged." said Adrian, looking around.

"I haven't seen anything out of order." Said Preacher.

"Well, there's more. He knew that we lived in Boston, that Julie lived near Harvard. He knew we have two children and that my parents live in San Francisco and that Ambrose lives there as well. He knew it all." She continued. "And he said that his boss has a 'certain affection' for our family and that he didn't want to kill us."

"His boss is someone we know?" asked Adrian.

"I don't know. I think that is what he inferred though. Anyway, he said that he was with the New America People's Liberation Front, and that complete domination of the US is their goal. He said the next target was going to be New York City and that it would happen in about ten minutes from that point." She said.

"And it did." Preacher interjected. "There was an explosion on Wall Street this evening."

"Anyone hurt?" asked Adrian.

"Noone." Said Preacher. "But I'll just bet all of these attacks start having their affect on the stock market."

"I'll bet you're right." Said Adrian. "People like their security."

"Sure do." Said Preacher. "Anything else?"

"Not that I can remember right now. It is all a blur." she replied.

"Okay, if you think of anything else." Preacher responded. "What next?"

"Well first thing we need to do is figure out how they knew these things. Let's search for listening devices." Said Adrian.

"Adrian, you don't feel well." Said Natalie.

"I don't care. The muscle relaxant took the edge off a little. Our personal safety matters more than my comfort right now." He replied. "Next, I need to talk to the Director."

"And Kennedy?" Asked Preacher.

"No Kennedy. Something about him…I don't trust him, sorry to say." Said Adrian. "Assume everything is bugged. Be very careful about what you say out loud. These perps have messed with the wrong people."

* * *

Adrian called the Director and told him that he wanted a one on one meeting first thing in the morning in a secure area. Nobody else was allowed to participate. The Director had an appointment with Stoddard at that time, but would work it in. Adrian decided that Stoddard needed to know as well. If they were going to continue supporting this effort, that feckless cousin of his was going to provide the Monks with security, 24/7. It wasn't that he didn't love his country at all, but there was simply no reason for him to risk his life and the lives of his family when they had all of the resources of the US Government at their disposal. He would ask for guards for Julie, Ambrose, and the Davenports as well since they were mentioned by name.

When he was finally done with setting things up for the next day, they did a sweep of the house and found nothing. Preacher went to bed and Natalie and Adrian brought the babies into the room with them and crawled into bed themselves. Sleep would not come easy as sheer adrenaline kept both of them awake through the night.

"Did he say anything else? What about Grier? Did he say anything about her?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. He said that she supported their revolutionary goals and had done so for years." She answered.

"So this is not a new organization?" Adrian asked.

"I didn't get that impression. In fact, he mention how this time was going to be different. They weren't going to be dissuaded from their goals like they were before." She answered.

"Before? Before what?" he asked.

"Didn't say." She replied. "Adrian. So far, their goal has been to cause instability and to avoid taking human life. But, I saw the look in Miller's eyes. He's just itching for blood.

"If he _ever _comes near you again, he is going to get that wish." Adrian growled.

"Honey. He didn't hurt me. Try to focus on the case and let the law handle him." she said. "Okay?"

"I will focus on the case, but I make no promises concerning Miller - or his boss, whomever that may be." He replied.


	24. Chapter 24

The morning meeting was out of the ordinary for both President Stoddard and Director Abramson. Neither man was used to having orders barked at them, particularly from one lower down in the pecking order. But there was something about the tone in Monk's voice that told both men that they had better be there.

After dropping the children off in the White House nursery, Adrian and Natalie walked directly to John Stoddard's office. They had been there so many times by now that they needed no staff to lead the way. They did talk with his executive assistant before entering the room, and she announced their presence.

"Adrian! Natalie! How are you? On the phone you sounded as if things were urgent." Stoddard said as Natalie held on to the still limping Adrian's arm.

"John. Not here." Said Adrian. "Secure room."

"Well, we're still waiting for Abramson…" John replied.

"Abramson's here!" said David, entering the Presidential office. "What's this about Monk? And why can't Kennedy be here?"

"Not here." Said Adrian.

"Secure room." Natalie said.

"Allllright." Said Abramson, looking at John.

"Secure room it is." Said Stoddard.

* * *

Inside the secure conference room, they all sat at a round table as the Monks told them, with painstaking detail, about the theft of Natalie's purse and then the events the following evening. Natalie's face was still pale when she spoke of her experience, and seeing her upset made Adrian's face turn a dark crimson.

"Alright, Monk. What do you need?" said Stoddard.

"John, I need 24/7 security for my entire family, that includes Natalie's parent's in California and Ambrose and Heather. Miller made an implicit threat. We're not backing away but we're not going to be stupid." Adrian said.

"Fine. Anything else?" he asked.

"We don't know how they are getting the information that they have. We checked Preacher's house for listening devices, but there were none that we could see. So, we may need one of your folks to do a more thorough evaluation. They knew detail they shouldn't have. We're not going to progress as long as they have that access." Monk continued.

"I know just the guy." Stoddard said. "I'll call him later this morning."

"Director Abramson, I need to _discretely_ get ahold of any and all records related to Miller. I'm sure the FBI has a file compiled on him somewhere. By the way he talked, this organization has been around for a while, and he has been in it for a while. I want to know who he is, where he has been and who he has known in his life. Same for Grier. There is a connection, I want to know what it is. "

"I can do that. But, I do have one question." He said.

"What's that?" Adrian asked.

"I know you like to work alone – but, why is Kennedy not in this meeting?" Abramson said.

Adrian looked at Stoddard and then Natalie, who spoke up. "It's not that Adrian doesn't trust him – but…he doesn't trust him." She said.

"I _don't_ trust him." He echoed.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Said Abramson.

"He may not be bad, but he is compromised and therefore, he isn't trustworthy." Monk explained.

"Adrian thinks they had something on him that got him to do their bidding." Natalie said.

"If I'm right... and you know I am…" Monk continued. "they still have whatever it is on him and he's still beholden to them. Plus, now he knows that they will kill if he disappoints them. They did it to Grier who was a higher-level source. They would do it to him in a heartbeat. For certain, he's dangerous. Proceed with caution."

"David, I have learned to listen to Monk's perspective when it comes to things like this, so take heed." Said Stoddard.

"Indeed. So…this American Liberty Front…" Abramson said.

"New America People's Liberation Front." Natalie corrected.

"Yeah…that…." Said Abramson. "They say they aren't trying to kill people, just destroy things? Why?"

"I have a theory about that too, but I don't have all the pieces yet. There _is _something specific I'm looking for." Said Adrian. "When I find it, I will let you know."

"I hope the pieces show up soon, Monk. Have you seen the newspapers? And the market? People are getting spooked." Said Stoddard.

"Yeah. Well, when you blow up Wall Street, it might have a tendency to spook a few investors." Said Adrian.

"Where are they going next?" asked Abramson.

"West. They're going West. L.A., San Francisco, Vegas…take your pick." Adrian replied.

"Abramson, beef up the number of agents in those areas. Evaluate which targets might be of national significance. If the goal is to destabilize, those areas will be our prime focus." Said Stoddard.

"Will do." Abramson replied.

* * *

Stoddard temporarily assigned two agents from the Secret Service to protect the Monks until they could vet other security agencies to take over the role for as long as needed. They wouldn't actually follow them into the office, lest they arouse suspicion; but, they would be at the ready for when they left the building. It was an added level of oversight that was needed, but it certainly wasn't something that either Adrian or Natalie wanted to get used to.

Abramson went through a back channel and managed to order up data on Sammy Miller and Grier without attracting any attention. Monk would find it in the Director's office upon arrival at the agency later that morning.

The team was small and sworn to secrecy. It would not be easy, but they believed they would be able to pull off the investigation without tipping their hands too much.

* * *

After picking up the packet from the director's office, Adrian and Natalie made their way to Monk's office. Sitting around his desk, he took the Miller folder and she took the Grier folder, both of which were quite thick, and they began charting out a timeline of facts for both individuals.

Miller's rap sheet was a mile long. He started as a teenager in Brooklyn being involved in petty theft and fights. Next, he graduated up to grand theft before disappearing underground with what appeared to be mob related activities. It was soon discovered that he had a real talent with guns, and so he became the mob's favorite hitman by the time he was 22. However, when mob boss Carlo Rosetti was arrested, he again went underground, resurfacing in Los Angeles in 1979. He stayed there for a while, was arrested several more times, was suspected of several serious crimes but wasn't convicted of them. He had at least eight aliases from the time he was a teen until now – Sammy Miller, Sam Milano, Saul Milano, Paul Mueller, Samuel Smith, Paul Fredericks, Sammy Johnson, and Sammy Jones.

In 1996 it seems he moved back to DC where the FBI again suspected that he was involved in organized criminal activity. Adrian poured through the records. Page after page, 1996, 1997, 1998. Clearly he was on the FBI's radar, but by that point he was clever and seasoned enough to not get caught. In late 1998, they suspected he was part of a corrupt senator's criminal organization. They had him tailed and put in detail everyone he met or talked to during that time. The senator eventually went down, but Sammy escaped prosecution. However, due to not wanting to disturb the bigger case, it appeared the FBI held back on some smaller cases, at least smaller on the surface.

Adrian turned the page in the folder at this point in the chronology and there was a newspaper clipping from 1999. The headline read _Anacostia Minister's Wife and Son Killed in House Fire: Foul Play Suspected._ Adrian's mouth dropped open.

"Oh no." he said.

Natalie looked up from her reading. "What is it?"

After quickly reading the small snippet in the paper, he handed it to her. It read:

_Emergency personnel were called to the home of a Christian minister from Anacostia Tuesday Afternoon when the home became engulfed in flames. 32-year-old Selina Armstrong, wife of Baptist Minister Jedediah Armstrong and their 8-year-old son were killed in the blaze. The blaze is still under investigation, and police suspect foul play._

After reading the article, Natalie looked up at Adrian. "Preacher? The FBI suspected Miller was a part of Preacher's wife's death?"

"Apparently so. But why? Preacher wasn't a cop back then. Why would they go after a Minister's family?" Adrian asked.

"Oh, Adrian. He's been looking all of these years. I wonder how he'll react?" Natalie said.

"We can't tell him." Said Adrian.

"What do you mean?" asked Natalie.

"Folder is classified. We need to get permission to release that information, and just like back then, I don't think anyone is going to be willing to divulge anything while there is an ongoing investigation. We have to solve this case. He deserves to know." Said Adrian.

"Or get him accessed." Said Natalie.

Adrian shook his head yes. "Great idea, Mrs. Monk. I'll call John in a few minutes and get things started."

"I have a few." She said, with a wink.


	25. Chapter 25

After pouring over papers for several hours, Natalie stood up to stretch and looked out the window. The warm summer sun was beginning to cast shadows in such a way that she knew it was getting to be late afternoon.

"Honey, what time is it? I forgot to wear my watch today." She said.

Adrian stopped what he was doing and looked. "It's four-fifteen" he answered.

"Oh goodness! The babies! We need to get over to the daycare and pick them up. They close at five o'clock." She exclaimed.

Monk immediately shut the folder he was reading through and stood to leave. As he did, the chair he had been sitting in rolled across the carpet and bumped into the small credenza behind his desk, causing a photo frame to topple over and fall onto the floor.

Adrian bent down to pick it up but couldn't reach it. He got down on his hands and knees and slightly moved the credenza to retrieve the frame. He reached behind the furniture, and then, he noticed it.

Dust? No, plaster. It was just a minuscule amount on the carpet below the outlet, but his hyper-observant eyes caught it. He reached out his fingers and picked some of the crumbs of plaster up, rolling them between his index finger and his thumb. Furrowing his brow, he traced upward to figure out where it might have fallen from. The only possibility was the outlet itself.

"Hmmmm…" he said.

"What's wrong?" Natalie asked.

He leaned in and looked at the cover, and then sat back on his heels and looked about five feet away at a similar cover under the window.

Looking at Natalie he said, "This. This right here." Then, he pointed at the cover.

* * *

Across town, a team member from the New America People's Liberation Front or NAPLF for short, watched the action.

"Uh – oh." Said the man.

"What?" said his superior.

"We've got trouble. Monk spotted the device." He replied.

"$h!#" the superior replied. "Get Miller on the line."

* * *

"What's that?" Natalie asked.

"Look at the color of this plate, and the screw itself." He said.

Natalie leaned over and looked. "Yeah? What about it?"

"They are two different colors. They don't match. Look over at that switch plate over there. Is it the same way?" he asked.

Natalie walked over to the plate. "Screw and cover are the same beige. I think that beige is also a little different from this one over here. It's more grey."

Adrian bent down to get a better look at the socket and saw that the lower outlet looked different.

"Natalie! Get in my desk drawer and pull out my Swiss Army knife." Adrian said.

She walked over to the desk and opened his top drawer. "I don't see it." She said.

Adrian looked over his shoulder and said impatiently. "Second drawer! Second drawer!"

Natalie frowned. "Well, you didn't say!" She opened the second drawer and pulled out the knife. Slapping it into his hand, she got a glare from him which she returned with folded arms.

He sighed and turned back to the outlet. Taking the knife in his left hand, he opened it up with his right and slid open the screwdriver function. He used it to carefully remove the screw. He then pried the cover off of the outlet. As he did, he saw that hidden inside were a camera and a small microphone. He turned to Natalie who was peering over his shoulder and the two locked eyes, but didn't say a word. The bad guys had heard it all.

"I'll call security. Get your purse. We're leaving." Adrian said gravely.

"Going now!" she said hurriedly.

Monk jumped up and grabbed the research folders from their desks, locking that which couldn't leave the room up for the evening. The rest, he took with him.

* * *

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, they met up with their Secret Service agents.

"We have to stop by the White House and pick up our kids. You'll follow us?" Adrian asked.

"Yes. We'll be right behind you and will stand guard over the house during the night. In the morning, the next shift will come take our places. You will be guarded at 24/7. Trust me. Nothing will get to you."

"I'm sure glad to hear that." Said Natalie, as she took out her car keys and hit the remote to unlock the door.

Suddenly, a huge explosion rocked the area as the Monk's car was incinerated in a ball of flame.

Secret service agents immediately began to dive onto Natalie and Adrian, but Monk shoved them aside and began running towards the car. As the horror of the attack was displayed before him, he had experienced a brief post-traumatic episode stemming from his past in which he was transported back to when Trudy's car exploded. The blast caused him to become psychologically confused, making him believe that Natalie was actually in the car when it blew.

"Nooooo!" he screamed, as a second explosion knocked him to the ground. "Natalieeeee!"

The Secret Service agent caught up with him and tried to pull him back. Utter horror had taken over and Adrian nearly collapsed in the man's arms in shock. Bewildered, the agent turned back to his partner.

"He's flipped out! What do I do?" he said.

"Get off! Get off me!" Natalie screamed, realizing what was going on better than perhaps anyone. "I have to get to my husband!"

"Ma'am, it's not safe…" said the agent.

"I'm not going to tell you a second time. Off! Now!" she screamed. At which point the agent release her.

Quickly, she ran over to Adrian's side and pushed the agent away from him. Throwing her arms around him, she held him tight and spoke softly to him, rocking along with him as the horror began to dissipate from his face.

"Adrian. It's me, Natalie. It's your wife. I'm here. I'm okay. I wasn't in the car." She said. "Adrian? Adrian? Can you hear me?" she said.

He blinked once. Twice. And then shook his head. Slowly, he began to come back to reality. He looked at her. She looked real. She felt real. He brought his hand up to his forehead and tried to focus. Next, he took the same hand and put it on the side of her face.

"You're okay?" he said, looking at her shaken to his core.

"I'm okay." She said, kissing his forehead as he grabbed onto her arm. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere. I'm still here."

"I…I thought…." He said, still a bit disoriented.

"I know. We're both okay." She said.

"How? How did they…?" said Monk.

"I don't know. How _did_ they?" she asked, angrily. "Have you guys been watching our stuff the whole time?" she said.

"Yeah, ever since we got here." The first agent said.

"Had to have happened before we got here. We've stood guard ever since we arrived." said the second agent.

Before she could say another word, a text came into Natalie's phone. She picked it up and read it out loud.

_Mrs. Monk. I'm disappointed that you did not take our gracious offer of safety seriously, but you have proven our point. Avoidance of human casualties unfortunately is not an effective means of achieving our goals. From here on, the blood on this nation's hands will be met with similar level of force on our part. Consider what you just experienced to be your final warning. Now, I suggest that you hitch a ride to the Day Care and go pick up your children. We wouldn't want something happening to them. SM.  
PS- Tell Armstrong, when you see him, I've been looking forward to meeting him for a very long time._

* * *

Press personnel gathered at the White House waiting for the official response concerning the car bombing on FBI property earlier that afternoon. The White House Press secretary kept them at bay with a high overview of what everyone already knew – that a car had exploded in the parking lot of the FBI building, that nobody was injured, and that they believed it was part of the recent string of attacks. He did not say who was responsible or who the intended target was.

Adrian and Natalie slipped out the side door with Lee and Abby and kept their heads low as minor press people not invited to the Press Conference hung around outside hoping to get their own exclusives. Secret Service pushed them away one by one, but, one nervous looking woman with a press badge on managed to slip Natalie a note as she moved forward to get into the waiting car.

Once in the car, Adrian held the babies tightly in his arms in the back seat, kissing and caressing their little heads as he tried to calm his nerves. Meanwhile, Natalie pulled the note out of her pocket, unfolded it and read.

_Be Silent. Surveillance. Mirage. Premier. Sam A._

With furrowed brow, she elbowed Adrian and motioned for him to read it quietly. When he was finished, he gave her a quizzical look and shrugged his shoulders.

"Wow. That sure was a mess back there, with all the journalists gathered around sharing and _conveying_ news." Natalie said, trying to give him a hint as to where it came from.

"Yeah. It was." He stated. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. You?" she asked.

"Still a bit shaky." He replied, looking down and to his left.

In the front seat, a Secret Service agent spoke to his superior giving him the latest details. Additional security would be supplied for the Monks due to the close call.

"Just got off the phone with my supervisor. You two are going to be as well guarded as the President, and they are beefing up security even more around your family. You should be safe now." Said the agent.

Natalie nodded, but Adrian was in his own little world.

_Be Silent. Surveillance._ Adrian figured out that the person who handed Natalie the note had wanted her to not read it out loud because someone was listening. But how? They had found the bugs in his office. Were there more? If so, it would explain how they knew so much, but how would they have that opportunity….? The purse snatcher! He must have planted something in Natalie's purse.

Adrian looked up at Natalie.

"Will you take the kids a minute?" he said.

"Sure." She said, trying to make it sound natural but knowing something was on his mind.

As they made the transfer, Adrian bent down and picked up her purse. He looked in the pockets and felt around the lining for anything that felt unusual. He examined the stitching, and all looked undisturbed. Next, he did the same with her wallet, even going so far as to examine her credit cards to see if one might be wired. Finally, he looked at her cell phone to see if it had been tampered with. Since they both had the same model, he held them up, side by side. Everything looked in order, until he looked at the earphone jacks. Hers was covered over, his was not.

His lips parted and he looked her straight in the eye and nodded. He showed her the two ends and she looked alarmed. Adrian put the phone back in her purse and leaned forward with his head in his hands. He needed another meeting with Stoddard and Abramson, and he needed to figure out what else was meant in the note. _Mirage. Premier. Sam A._ This might be the key, but with his nerves still shaky he was having a hard time making the connection. He spent the rest of the drive home trying to will himself to calm down. This was no time to 'Monk out.'


	26. Chapter 26

Natalie Monk laid in the stillness of the bed wide awake. A small lamp on the nightstand beside her cast its dim amber glow across the room and the only sounds were those of a cricket somewhere down the hallway and the fitful breaths of her husband sleeping.

The day had been extremely hard on him, and she was worried that it was going to set him back emotionally – not that she couldn't deal with that if it did. She had done it for years. But, the events of that day and how it affected him really caused it to hit home that there was this fragile side to him that would always be present. This enigmatic personality was what caused her to fall in love with him. He could at one moment show super-hero like strength and bravery and the next moment be a vulnerable child or an emotional wreck. She had started to get used to the steady side, so seeing him fall apart was a little wake up call.

As she laid by his side, she noticed that he was moving a lot more than normal. He normally slept very still, and on his back. But now, he was tossing and turning, clearly having some sort of a nightmare. His breathing became shallow and he began mumbling something in his sleep – what she couldn't tell. Eyes flickering, his face contorted as if he were in pain. He flinched and great beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and face. She had heard from her days as a military wife that it was not good to try to wake someone up when they were having a PTSD nightmare, but she struggled watching him struggle. She wanted to whisper in his ear telling him things were okay, and it was just a dream. But such interference was discouraged by the professionals, so, she chose to wait it out.

After about ten minutes of this, he jolted in his sleep and his mouth flew open as if he were screaming, but no sound came out. Then, his breathing stopped entirely for about 15 seconds. Witnessing this, her own heart skipped a beat. Was he okay? She sat up one elbow and watched for his chest to rise and fall again, _breathe Adrian!_ She thought. After about ten seconds she started to panic. She had just reached forward her hand to shake him when she about jumped out of her skin as he suddenly inhaled one huge gulp of air and sat straight up, eyes wide open. In a daze, he sat there, staring straight ahead for several seconds trying to get acclimated to the room. After a few seconds, she reached her hand up and touched him on his back which was drenched with sweat, startling him. Slowly he turned around and looked at her, his eyes filled with grief which morphed into relief as he realized it was truly just a dream.

His voice broke through the stillness, but it wasn't at all what she expected to hear.

"What would you think if I retired from investigative work?" he asked.

She stopped for a second and considered the question before answering. "Retire? I, well…I haven't thought about it. But… I support whatever you want to do. You know that?" she said.

He nodded, and looked down at his hand, as if deep in thought.

She sat up fully, and wrapped one arm around his back, placing her head on the back of his shoulder.

"Why do you want to retire?" she asked.

"It's just something I'm thinking about." He said.

"Because of the danger?" she asked.

He looked up at her. She had read the situation well, but not entirely.

"That's a big part, yes. But not because of the fear. Of course, on days like today, I'm battling that pretty hard…" he started to zone out thinking about what could have happened. Sensing this, she interrupted his thoughts.

"If not fear, then what?" she asked.

"Responsibility." He said. "I'm no longer Adrian Monk, widower. I'm Adrian Monk, husband and father. It has made me think, why am I doing this? Why am I running the risk of leaving you a widow or our children orphans?"

Natalie did not answer immediately, but instead stood and walked over to the bureau, pulling out clean dry pajamas for him to put on. This wasn't the first time they had broached this subject, but it was the first time he had intimated what he was considering. She wanted to take the time to answer him properly, since he needed her guidance.

Climbing over the footboard and back onto the bed, she reached her hand out and looked at his wet pajama top motioning for him to hand it over. He looked down and quietly unbuttoned the shirt, and slowly slipped it off and dutifully handed it to her.

Folding it, and laying it on the bed next to him, she took the clean one and held it out for him to slip his arms into. He quietly complied and watched her as she then buttoned the shirt up and rested her hand on his chest. Now, she sat on her knees face to face looking him straight in the eyes.

"Adrian. You are doing this because it is who you are. It's who you were made to be." She paused. "I appreciate your desire to put us before yourself. But I also know, as much as I would like to have a more normal life where we didn't find ourselves in mortal danger every five minutes – it's just who you are. It's just who _we_ are. It's what we do. Besides, you wouldn't be happy just sitting around as a retiree doing who knows what." She said.

"But, we have the money…I could do it…I could spend more time with you and the children." He said.

"And I would love that. But…it wouldn't feel right for you. This is your life. You are a wonderful husband, when you're not being a grouch…"

"When am I ever?" he interrupted.

She put her hand on his lips, smirked a little, and continued. "You're a wonderful husband. You're an amazing father. These things are true. But you are also this incredible intellect. We can talk about it more later, but I don't think you would be happy and that's what I want most of all, for you to be happy." She finished.

"_You_ make me happy." He said, running his hand through her hair. She shifted her body to where she was now sitting on the bed directly, in her silk pajama shorts, and she scooted up, facing him, and wrapped her legs around his hips. Leaning forward, she put both arms around his neck and gave him a tender and lingering kiss. Then, with her hands still around his neck, she sat back and just looked at him and smiled.

"What?" he asked.

She smiled and gave a single chuckle. "Nothing." She replied.

"No. Not nothing! What are you thinking?" he said, like an insistent little boy.

"It's nothing!" she said, propping herself up on her palm and swinging around so that she now sat beside him in bed.

"Natalieeee!" he whined, turning to her. "What were you thinking? You know I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep unless you tell me."

She laughed. "Alright. Alright. I was just thinking, this is not the first time you've tried to do this. Retire, that is. Remember after your 100th case?"

"One hundred and first" he said. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"Me? Stop _you_?" she answered, dubious of the idea.

He threw her a look. "Oh…don't give me that!" he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his eyes.

"Don't give you what?" she said, shifting her body towards his and smiling with growing amusement.

"Awe, cut it out. You know what!" he said, turning his body to the side and fluffing his pillow then laying down, looking at her and shaking his head.

"Cut what out?" she teased, getting up on her hands and knees and reaching her right hand across his body, resting it on the other side of the bed. "I'm sure, I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Monk."

He squinted his eyes and bit his lip, trying not to grin. "THIS! This thing right here! You're always doing this!" He said.

"What?!" she said, feigning innocence.

"We get in a discussion, I'm making a point. You have a different point and you're going to stick to it. Next thing I know, you're there pouring on the charm and all your beauty and wham! There I go again…wrapped around your little…"

"Adrian." She interrupted.

"What?" he said.

"Shut up." She said.

"Shut up?" he asked.

"Yes. Shut up, and kiss me." She said, leaning in close and licking her lower lip before biting it. Her eyes had a look of seduction about them. He swallowed hard.

"Yes ma'am!" He replied, as he took her in his arms and laid her down beside him, taking the damp pajama top in his free hand as he did and tossing it over top of the amber lamp beside their bed.

* * *

The next morning, Preacher Armstrong sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of bran cereal with fresh fruit cut up on top of it. As he did, his eyes bounced back and forth between Monk and Natalie who were in perhaps the best mood he had ever seen them in. Considering that they had almost gotten killed the day before, it was a bit unusual; but, he enjoyed the spectacle as Natalie hummed _La Vie En Rose_ while making them both a cup of coffee and Adrian glided across the floor, emitting an occasional harmony to her voice as he made them toast.

Natalie set the cups down on the table at the same time Adrian sat down the plates of toast, and Preacher's eyebrows raised when Adrian took Natalie by the hand, twirled her outward in the middle of the kitchen and then pulled her with a twirl back into his embrace before pulling out her chair for her and doing a half bow presenting her with her seat.

The Police Captain stifled a laugh and shook his head as dimples adorned his cheeks at the sight of the two lovebirds.

"Sleep well?" he finally asked at which point, Natalie and Adrian looked at each other and giggled.

"_Very_ well." She said, making Adrian blush.

Preacher cleared his throat. "That's good. Anything interesting on the agenda for today?"

Adrian sat down and decided to be serious for a moment.

"Yes." He answered, taking a bite of toast. After chewing a few bites and swallowing, he continued. "Going to meet with the President today. I think I have an idea that's going to require some travel for me and Natalie. Also…I've asked that they put you in for a security clearance."

"Me? Why?" Preacher said, eating another bite of cereal.

Adrian looked at Natalie and then down at the table before looking back at Preacher.

"Well…I can't say right now. But, there is a particular area that I want to brief you on and with your expertise in this city, I figured you would be a great asset." Adrian said.

Preacher's eyes darted between the two and he knew they were keeping some sort of secret; but, having lived in DC for as long as he had, he decided to leave it be. He raised his chin a little and looked at them through the bottom of his eyes, as the right corner of his mouth raised in a suspicious smirk. "Alllllright. I'm sure you'll tell me all about what this is about soon." He said.

"Yes. Very soon." Natalie answered.

"Good!" the Captain said, pushing his chair out from the table. "Meanwhile, you might want to go talk to your guys out there. The dayshift just arrived, and they have my car blocked in."

Adrian wiped his mouth and nodded his head. "I'll get right on it, Captain Armstrong."


	27. Chapter 27

Garrison Kennedy was ushered by a Secret Service agent into the White House through the West Wing and into an interior room just down the hall from the Oval Office. It was an unusual request that he meet there. But it wasn't every day that one was personally summonsed by the President of the United States, so he didn't exactly feel that he could refuse the request, and cancelled all of his other meetings that afternoon.

It was a curiosity to him that he was meeting outside of the Oval Office in a room not much bigger than a coat closet, and he felt nervous when he entered the room and saw its actual setup. The room had one entrance and no windows. In its center was a rectangular table surrounded by three chairs. Against each wall were two other chairs. The only light in the room was a bright light beaming down from the ceiling directly over the table. It was the sort of set up one might expect to see in an interrogation room at a police station, not just down the hall from the most powerful office in the world. The agent instructed him to sit a the single chair on one side of the table, while he went to get the others.

Kennedy took a seat and then looked around the room anxiously wondering what it was that Stoddard wanted from him. He was concerned when he had received word from the team that the bug in Monk's office had been found, but as far as he knew his cover was still safe and nobody was the wiser to his treachery. Still, the knowledge that they knew _this_ much was worrisome to him. He would feel better, he thought, once he knew what this meeting was about.

Fifteen minutes after his arrival the door opened, and in walked a grim-faced Abramson. He took a seat directly opposite and to the right of Kennedy, clasping his hands in front of him and staring straight at his face with mouth clenched.

Kennedy shifted nervously then began to greet him, but before he could form the words, the door opened again. This time, Attorney General Matt Fitzhugh walked in, holding a red folder, followed by the Monks, a grey-haired man in a suit with classes and a ponytail, and four secret service agents.

Natalie took one of the seats next to the wall and Adrian stood beside her. They were flanked by two Secret Service agents. The other two agents guarded the door as Fitzhugh sat next to Abramson, directly across from Kennedy, and the pony tailed man pulled up one of the chairs from against the wall and sat on Abramson's other side.

It was Fitzhugh who broke the silence.

"We've been a busy boy, haven't we Garrison?" he said sternly. Garrison's eyes shifted with alarm. What did they know?

"This is Ralph Keehner, one of the top forensics experts working for the Department of Homeland Security. He specializes in audio and video surveillance, but also has a doctorate in Computer Forensics from Georgetown." Fitzhugh said.

Kennedy swallowed and said, "Pleased to meet you." He stuck out his hand to shake Keehner's but Keehner did not respond. Kennedy dropped his hand to his lap and wiped a sweaty palm on his trousers.

Fitzhugh pursed his lips, "I received word this morning that Associate Director Monk felt that his office had been bugged. President Stoddard sent Keehner here to check things out, and Monk was right. There was a surveillance device in his electrical outlet."

Kennedy looked over at Adrian who stared emotionless back at him.

"Any idea who could have done it?" Kennedy asked.

Fitzhugh, tapped the edge of the folder on the table and raised his eyebrows. "Spare us the pretense, Kennedy."

Kennedy furrowed his brows and looked back at Fitzhugh.

Abramson spoke. "You didn't expect that you could work in the top domestic surveillance agency in the world and not be under surveillance yourself, did you?"

Kennedy's eyes widened.

"Yes, that's right, Kennedy. You're busted." Said Fitzhugh. He continued. "We have video surveillance of you entering each of these gentlemen's offices after hours and surveillance of you placing the bugs. We also have had the Computer forensics team check out Director Abramson's and Associate Director Monk's computer and found the keylogger that you placed on the server. We have it all. So, forget about denying it. The question was why. What could have possessed you to commit..."

"Treason." Said Abramson.

Kennedy's eyes darted back and forth between the two men as he thought about what possible explanation he might come up with to get him off the hook. All delusions that he might entertain disappeared into thin air when Fitzhugh's next words left his lips.

"We discovered that reason when we were sweeping Abramson's office – formerly the office of director Grier. She was blackmailing you." Fitzhugh said as he opened up the red folder containing news articles and intelligence reports on Garrison Kennedy. "This is your file. Anyone who has been around long enough has one. Yours is quite interesting. We found it in Grier's safe."

Kennedy looked at the open folder which now was face open on the table and showed paperclipped articles about a hit and run accident involving a diplomat's daughter some years prior. Photographic evidence from the scene pointed at Kennedy, but Grier managed to bury the evidence and the lead investigator died in his own 'accident' within days of making the discovery. Regardless of that history, there was now undeniable proof of what Kennedy had tried to keep hidden.

"It was an accident. I…I had too much to drink at a cocktail party and the girl just came out of nowhere. I saw her, but didn't react quickly enough." Kennedy said, looking down at his hands.

"So you left her?" asked Abramson.

Kennedy was silent.

"Listen Kennedy, you really have no choice but to cooperate with us. You have committed felonies worthy of death. We might be able to get that sentence reduced to life in prison if you cooperate." Said Fitzhugh.

"They will kill me if I talk, or they will kill my family." Said Kennedy.

"Fine. We can put you in witness protection. What do you know? Evidence clearly shows you hit this girl. Why did you leave her there?" asked Abramson.

Kennedy looked up at Fitzhugh and then Abramson. "I am counting on you being men of your word. I left her because I was scared. It would have caused an international incident. What were we going to say? The truth? The Deputy Director of the FBI was drunk and killed a diplomat's daughter? Relations between the two countries were bad enough as it was, that would not have gone over well. So…Grier offered the way out…and I took it." He said, looking up. "In exchange for not going to prison, I was to do whatever _they_ told me to do."

"They? Who is they?" asked Abramson.

"The people Grier was associated with. Bad actors for certain."

"NAPLF people?" asked Abramson.

"Yes. And, others. They are working together as a cooperative." Said Kennedy.

"That's just what you thought, Monk." Said Fitzhugh. Monk nodded.

"Yes." Adrian responded. "The mode of terror was basically the same, but there were stylistic differences. Who is their leader?"

"That wasn't for me to know. But, I know that there are at least three domestic terror and anarchist groups they are working with – a neo-Marxist group of Serbian immigrants calling themselves Povrat, a radical anarchist group in Boston called "The Purge", and another group out of California made up mostly of societal outcasts who are advocates against American Imperialism. I do not know their name, but I know they exist because of communication that Grier had frequently from California area codes."

"Do you think they are involved in these bombings?" asked Abramson.

"I'm positive. I saw the list of cities in Grier's office. The attacks have happened in the exact order specified." Said Kennedy.

"Which city is next?" asked Abramson.

"Port Arthur. I tried to intimate that to you earlier, but I couldn't be too obvious. They would be going after Sumner Oil." Said Kennedy.

"National Oil Reserves." Said Abramson.

"Not just that." Said Adrian. "Sumner is the lead company for US oil exports. I remember that from a case back in San Francisco, back in my cop days. Economic and strategic hit."

"We've had people down there since Kennedy mentioned it. We've seen nothing, but we'll continue to tell them to be on alert." Said Abramson. "Where next?"

Kennedy shut his eyes as he tried to remember the list. "Her list had Los Angeles and Las Vegas on the same line. I took that to mean that it is going to be a simultaneous attack." He said. "They just listed the cities, not the places within the cities.

"The Mirage Hotel." said Adrian, remembering the note. Natalie thought and nodded in agreement, touching his sleeve.

"That would make sense. That huge singer Tessa from the UK is headlining there. They have been sold out for months. I know, because my teenaged granddaughter in Reno asked me for tickets for her birthday. "said Abramson. "The hotel will be packed, and Miller said that they were going to aim for civilian casualties. It would be perfect."

"And L.A.? What are we looking at? The airport? Sports arena?" asked Fitzhugh.

"A premier." Said Natalie.

"Premier?" asked Abramson.

"Yes. On the note this note that was handed to me outside the White House." She said, removing the note from her purse, standing up and handing it to Abramson.

Abramson read the note. "You were handed this? By whom?"

"Some woman with a press badge. We don't know her." said Natalie.

"But we think she was trying to warn us." said Adrian.

"A movie premier? A Premier of a country? What?" asked Fitzhugh. "What does it mean?"

"The Premier of Doomsday II, with Greg Buchanan and Melanie Randall, one of the most talked about movies of the year." offered Kennedy. "I know that from my teenaged daughter."

"They're huge." Said Natalie.

"And a hit in the middle of their movie premier would certainly be an attention getter." Said Adrian.

Abramson looked to Fitzhugh. "So, what are we going to do, boss?"

"Abramson, we already have Texas covered, send personnel to LA and Las Vegas right away. Monk, you are now second in command at the FBI, but we are not going to spread that information. Kennedy, you and your family are being taken into protective custody. We need you around to testify, but you are hereby relieved of duty and we will put you into Witness protection and 'disappear' you following trial. This is the first real break we have had in this case."

"Sir. What about San Francisco?" asked Natalie.

"That's part of what you will be tasked at finding. If Mirage and Premier are hints at cities, perhaps Sam A. is as well. With your expertise in the area, I figured you'd be right on it." Said Fitzhugh.

"I already am." Said Monk. "That's something I would like to talk to you about. I would like to request permission to fly to San Francisco. I have very good contacts there and between my and Natalie's work and their work, I think we might be able to stay ahead of this. At least I hope so." Said Adrian.

"Permission granted." Said Fitzhugh.

"We'll fly out tomorrow. Meanwhile, as acting Deputy Director, I would like to enlist someone to be my eyes and ears in DC while we are out of town. I would also like to put him on the law enforcement trail against some of these malevolent groups." Said Adrian.

"Armstrong?" asked Abramson. Adrian nodded. "The paperwork for his clearance was signed off by Stoddard this morning" said David.". We can get him an office next to yours if you like. I'll talk with the Commissioner and work out the logistics of temporarily filling his role as Captain. We'll call it a 'special assignment.' I don't need to caution you, however, that he needs to be discrete. We don't want to tip our hand."

"He's a veteran cop, and the best in the lot. He knows discrete. Thank you." Said Adrian.

"Alright gentlemen, lady…we're off to the races. Let's stay ahead of the pack." Said Fitzhugh. "Kennedy, you stay here. I'll be sending someone to pick you up shortly."

* * *

Preacher Armstrong had just gotten home from work and was sitting down to eat a hamburger when he received Adrian's call asking him to meet them at FBI headquarters. He didn't know what it was about, but told Adrian that he would just finish his sandwich and would be on his way. When he arrived, Natalie had to let him in the front door since the facility had been closed down for the day. She asked him about his day and patted him on the back as she led him towards Adrian's office. The more he interacted with her and then saw Adrian's face when he entered the room, his instincts told him that something was up.

"Hey, Monk." He said, walking into the office. "What's up?"

"Hi Preacher." Adrian said, standing up from his desk with a folder in his hand. "Take a seat."

Preacher sat down in a chair in a little seating area that Adrian had in the corner of his office while Adrian went and shut the door. Natalie and Adrian walked over and joined their friend. They had rehearsed for some time how they were going to break the news to him, but now that they were face to face it became difficult. Still, if there was anyone who could understand what Preacher was about to endure, it was Adrian Monk. The suspected reasons for Preacher's case may have been different than Adrian's but the drive to solve the case was not. Their personalities were different, however, which was the wild-card in the equation. Honestly, they weren't sure how Preacher would react; but they both felt certain that he should be told.

"You have a good day?" Adrian asked.

Preacher looked confused as his eyes bounced between his two friends. "Yeah. It was pretty good. Natalie just asked me that. You guys didn't drag me all the way down here to ask me about my day. What's going on?"

Adrian paused and looked at the folder. "We've spoken with the Police Commissioner and asked him to put you on special assignment for a case here with the FBI."

"Special assignment? Listen. I'm not G-man material. I'm a cop. I don't really think I want to be a part of some federal case." He answered.

"You'll want to be a part of this case." Natalie said, reaching out and touching him on the arm.

"We were looking through case files trying to solve the Grier murder and the recent rash of attacks, when we ran into this in one of the files." Adrian said, opening up the folder and handing the news article and intelligence report behind Sammy Miller to his friend.

Preacher looked at the article and his heart ached as he relived the events of that day in his mind. He saw in his mind's eye the soft features of his wife and the eager happiness of a young son who had the look of his mother, sweet and innocent. Next, he read the police report about the events – a report that he had never seen before and that had remained hidden due to federal involvement in the case. Miller had been picked up in the area and had chemicals on his clothing that matched the chemicals used in the attack, and yet, they let him go because he was part of a larger case and this was just some parsonage. As a policeman, Preacher understood that one had to sometimes overlook minor crimes when solving something more serious, but the knowledge that Miller had walked freely and created more mischief in the years which ensued caused a burning anger to bubble up from his gut. Tears of rage began to pool in his eyes and his nostrils flared as he put down the papers and looked Adrian in the eyes.

"Miller's the guy?" asked Preacher.

"Miller's the guy." Adrian confirmed.

Preacher stood up and began to walk out.

"Preacher, wait!" said Natalie.

"This piece of filth took the life of my wife and my son! I have spent nearly twenty years looking for him. The Feds let him get away before. It's time he face justice!" Preacher shouted.

"And he will." Adrian said, standing. "But first, we need to find his cohorts and stop them from what they are doing. They want to overthrow the government of the United States and kill more people. I…I know you want blood…trust me, nobody knows it better than me…and, when the time comes, if you still want it, I won't lift a finger to stop you. But, we need your focus on the case right now."

Preacher glared back at Monk in silence. His brain was telling him that Adrian _was _ the one person who knew where he was parked emotionally and that his advice was sound, but his heart was telling him to impulsively run out into the night and slay the monster that killed his family.

"Preacher, running out right now and killing Sammy will not bring them back." Natalie said.

"And, there was a much bigger effort going on here than just setting fire to the parsonage. This wasn't a robbery gone bad. It was terrorism." said Adrian. "Honor your wife and son's memory by helping us to take them all down."

A great salty tear rolled down Preacher's mahogany cheek and his chin began to quiver. Grief, rage, heartbreak all pressed against his spirit, beckoning him to act out. Instead, he closed his eyes and said a brief silent prayer and then looked up at Adrian and Natalie.

"Alright, I'm in." he said. "Justice may be deferred, but it will not be denied."


	28. Chapter 28

Preacher Armstrong saw Adrian, Natalie and their children off at the airport early the next morning and bid them godspeed until they should meet again. He then went directly to headquarters to begin digging into the case.

Sammy Miller was a slippery character alright, but it also appeared that he had his fair share of people protecting him along the way, or at least looking the other way. There were warrants for his arrest in at least ten states, some several years old, some relatively recent. Yet, everywhere he went, he managed to slip away from the grasp of the law and fade back into the darkness. Not this time. Preacher was determined to not let him get away and to make him pay for the pain he had caused others through the years , and he was determined to avenge Selina and their son J.J.

He sat in the office pouring over case files, hour after hour, and began to stitch together a picture that would not only help him do just that, but would help the Monks solve the overarching case. All he needed now was for their plane to land and for them to call him as they had promised to do. He gathered what he had rounded up so far in a nice little package and would forward it to them as soon as they had a secure connection. Hopefully, working both ends against the middle, they could tie the bow on this case rather quickly.

* * *

Leland and T.K. Stottlemeyer waited anxiously for their friend's plane to arrive. Even though they had seen them early in the month, having Adrian and Natalie back in San Francisco just felt right, and down deep they hoped being back home would make them want to stay. Leland missed working with his friend, and regardless what they decided to do, he was looking forward to working with him on a case again, particularly one of such national significance.

As the Police Commissioner, Leland pulled rank and arranged so that he and T.K. could be there the moment the cockpit doors opened and the airline let passengers off into the concourse. The Monks had flown first class, so they expected them to be the first people off the plane, but they weren't. Instead, a whole stream of agitated and angry passengers stormed off the plane in a huff, some crying, some complaining loudly that they would never fly that airline again, and a few complaining about the obnoxious clatter coming from the baby in first class who set people's nerves on end the last three hours of the flight.

"Oh, poor Natalie and Adrian. Sounds like they had a rough flight." T.K. noted, watching the passengers disembark and straining her neck to see if the Monks were coming.

Leland looked down at his wife, put his hands in his pocket and smirked, raising one eyebrow. "I hope that is the case."

"What do you mean?" T.K. asked.

Before he could explain, a disheveled looking Natalie stepped out of the Jet Bridge, leaving her carry-ons next to the attendant. She looked up and spotted the Stottlemeyers and a broad smile appeared upon her tired face. The couple walked over to her to greet her.

"Hey there, stranger. Heard you all had a rough flight." said Leland. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah. It was rough. _Real _rough. If you want to stay right here by the bags, that would be a big help." She replied.

"Were the babies that bad?" asked T.K.

"What?" said Natalie, her brow wrinkling with a dazed confusion. "Oh…oh no. The babies were fine. Slept the whole time. It was Adrian that had the problem."

She turned and headed back onto the airplane and Leland chuckled and knowing chuckle, putting one arm around a surprised T.K.'s shoulder.

"Yep! He's home!" Leland said with a grin, as an attendant carried the babies off the plane followed by Natalie walking a pale and shaking Adrian into the concourse.

Leland loaded their bags into the trunk of the SUV and opened the front passenger door for Monk to enter, but was surprised when he quietly nodded no. He would rather sit in back with Natalie.

"Well now there's progress." Leland muttered to himself as he and Trudy got into the front of the car and Leland began to drive.

It was like old times in the back, with a stressed Adrian laying his head on steady Natalie's shoulder and Natalie gently stroking his hair, only this time they had two children strapped in the back seat who were watching their every move.

"I'm sorry." He lamented quietly.

"It's okay." She said, kissing the top of his head while gently twisting his curls in her fingers. "Flying is always hard. This time was just harder than others. But hey, I'm proud of you! The first couple of hours you travelled like a frequent flier. You were a master on takeoff. Have never seen you do that well."

"There was a _lot _of turbulence." He said.

"Yeah. That was a bad storm." She replied.

"I didn't think they would fly through storms like that." He said.

"They do. They try to avoid them. I think this one just popped up all of the sudden." She said, pressing her cheek to his head.

"I acted like a fool." He said. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for." She answered. "It was scary even for me."

"I ruined all of those people's flight. And did you see the steward?" he asked.

"They call them flight attendants now, and yes, I saw him. He just had an attitude from the get-go when we got on board with the twins. I wouldn't worry about him." She said.

"They acted better than I did." he said. "I set a very bad example. And, I'm sorry."

"Monk! The woman said stop apologizing. So, you freaked out a little. What else is new?" Leland said, interrupting the conversation.

"But I…" Adrian moaned.

"It's okay, Adrian. Leland cries too sometimes." Said T.K. trying to show him some empathy.

Leland shot T.K. a look. "T.K."

Natalie perked up. "In all the years I have known Leland Stottlemeyer, I've never known him to cry."

"Yeah…well", an embarrassed Leland said as he turned off the highway.

"I saw him cry." Adrian said. "At the hospital. When I was dying."

Leland got quiet as he remembered the time that he had promised Monk that he would kill Nathan Rickover and see to it that there wouldn't be a trial. As his longtime friend, Adrian knew immediately he was lying, but at that point Leland would say anything to make his buddy feel better. That's how deep their friendship ran.

"Yeah, well…no shame in that." Said Stottlemeyer. "We've been friends a long time, Monk. Didn't want it to end that way."

"Of course not, there's no shame." Said Natalie.

"Hey look, there's your old place!" Leland said, switching subjects as they drove by the apartment building on Pine Street near Broadway and Taylor.

Adrian looked up at the second floor, as Stottlemeyer slowed down to a stop, and a sad feeling came over him as he remembered his old home. He had lived there with Trudy and had spent some of the happiest and saddest days of his life in that building.

"They've changed the curtains" he said softly.

Natalie, leaned over to see what he was seeing just in time to see a young couple walk near the window, say something to one another while pointing to the building across the street, and then walk off laughing together.

"At least they seem happy there." She said.

"Yeah, seems so, or maybe it's the curtains." He said, as Leland pulled away and continued to drive towards his own house.

"So, what can you tell me about this terrorist org planning on striking my city?" Leland asked.

"I was going to wait until we get settled. I have _a lot_ to tell you about. If you're like me, I think you're going to recognize a certain pattern to these crimes, and I wanted to run by what I think happened with you to get your gut feel and see if you think I'm on the right track." Adrian replied.

"Get my gut feel? We're always looking to you for that. If you think it is the right track, then it's the right track." Leland answered.

"Yeah, maybe." Adrian said with uncharacteristic humility about these things. "But, this area is one in which you have a certain level of expertise. And, we're messing with national security here, so it never hurts to get a second opinion."

"An area where _I _have expertise and you don't_?_" asked Leland.

"Oh yeah. I've seen it, but I haven't experienced it like you. You'll see." Adrian said, feeling more at ease now that they had stopped discussing his panic attack on the plane. He was back in his element and it felt good.

* * *

Back in Washington, Abramson called Preacher into his office for a late afternoon briefing. The team in Port Arthur had reported that they had turned away some trespassers but believed that it had been a case of someone making a wrong turn rather than someone with malevolent intent. Nevertheless, they were going to follow up on it and report back on where the people had gone. In Las Vegas, there were teams stationed backstage at the Mirage, in the Casino, and amongst the wait staff. The top agent for the FBI field staff in Nevada was leading that team and felt they had things pretty much secure. And, in L.A. the production company had been informed of the possible threat at the premier and there would be agents standing guard all along the red carpet, both visible and undercover. Finally, Kennedy's family had been gathered together and they were presently en route to a safe house near Kopp, Virginia.

"And, with Monk handling the San Francisco end of things, you can see that we have things pretty much under control." Abramson said to Preacher, leaning back in the chair that he had delivered to replace Grier's smaller chair. "What are you finding about Miller?"

"Connections. I'm finding connections. Connections with several militant groups of the past. It looks like the FBI agents in charge at the time of my wife's death felt like he had intentionally set the fire as a protest against both the church and the state rather than it being a burglary as we once thought."

"Why would he want to attack a preacher's home?" asked Abramson.

"Well, you see, back in that day, I had been in the news quite a bit because I was trying to help some of our inner city youth get a leg up in society rather than be condemned to a life of poverty and crime. I was working with the Mayor of DC and with certain members of Congress to secure money to open up a training center in Anacostia, to try to give these kids some hope and skills and a future – that kind of thing. I was interviewed several times as the 'Pastor with the Plan' and was fairly well known. Apparently Miller and his cronies didn't like the plan and didn't like us working with the government, so he and/or his team set fire to the parsonage. The agent noted that it didn't appear that the group realized there were actually people inside and had planned this more as a warning – setting the blaze when they knew I was gone from the house. He also stated that several of the members scattered after that, and Miller went underground."

"So does that mean…?" Abramson started before being interrupted by his cell phone.

Looking at the caller ID, he turned to Preacher. "Just a second. I have to catch this… Abramson speaking… Yeah…wait, what? Slow down. When? How many injured. How did this happen? Yeah. Go ahead and get Bridges to pull together a report. We'll brief the President and then move forward from here. Thanks."

As he hung up, Preacher wondered what on earth had just happened. He didn't have to wait for an answer.

"Port Arthur, Texas was just hit by a chemical attack. They skipped the refinery and went straight for the local mall. At least 35 people were hurt or killed." Said Abramson.

"My goodness!" said Preacher. "Why would they have switched spots? Kennedy said they were going after Sumner Oil."

"Sumner owns the Mall. Owns pretty much everything in the city. They went for soft targets where it would cause the most terror. We have to get to team Monk and the others and let them know that some of our assumptions may be wrong, or they may have changed. We should prepare to be ready for anything." Said Abramson.

"He should be calling me in a few minutes." Preacher said. "Maybe it's not a case of being wrong or changing though. Our assumptions may be wrong, but we still essentially have the list. Sumner was still hit…although, did you say with _chemical_ weapons? Now, that's rough! Where would they have gotten those?"

"Yeah. Methodology is changing. My guess is they will be marked with some sort of insignia from Libya. Whoever this was, must have stocked up in whatever they could find on the black market. They have been planning this for years, and they are becoming more dangerous. Monk sounded like he thought the key might rest in San Francisco, the last stop. Any idea why he would say that?" David asked.

"None at all. But, if he thinks it, that what it is. Dude is the smartest dude I've ever known." He responded.

"I've heard many people say that. Makes me wonder why it's me in this seat and not him." Said Abramson.

"He'd be good in it, I think. But, the FBI would never be the same." Armstrong replied.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing." Said Abramson.

* * *

As night fell, Adrian and Natalie settled into the guest bedroom at Leland and TK's house and fell fast asleep, with Lee and Abby resting comfortably in two cribs that the Stottlemeyers had purchased just for the occasion. Preacher had briefed them on the Port Arthur event as well on his findings within the FBI files. Adrian indicated that these findings only validated his theory and asked Jedediah to forward what he could to his inbox. Since all the relevant data had been declassified, he was able to send a lot through open channels.

* * *

On the other side of the country, military guards stood outside the safe house containing Garrison Kennedy, his wife, and kids. Kennedy had not explained to his family what he exactly had done, but simply told them that bad people were out to hurt them and that they were being put under government watch until further notice. The family was frightened, but grateful that they had been removed from harm's way – at least so they thought.

At precisely 12:45 AM the phone at David Abramson's Georgetown brownstone lit up, waking him.

"This better be important." Was the greeting that the caller received when Abramson answered the phone. A shiver went down his spine with what came next.

There had been an ambush of sorts at the safe house. From afar, a sharpshooter took out the main guards before they even had time to react, and then a group in black tactical gear swarmed the site firing and counter-firing at the military personnel that remained. They burst into the house and went after Kennedy and his family. Unfortunately, it was a massacre. The only survivors were the teenaged daughter who was in serious but stable condition in the hospital and an army private who had been wounded in the firefight but survived. The government's only witness was dead, and Sammy the sharpshooter was on the loose.

Abramson didn't sleep a wink the rest of the night. He was worried about what would happen with the remaining attacks, but also was realistically worried about how Stoddard was going to handle this thing politically. He stat up and prepared his briefing for an 8:00 AM appointment with the President, and hoped that he would not impulsively step into the middle of the case and confuse matters all the more.


	29. Chapter 29

The Press Briefing Room was chaotic, as veteran journalists from every spectrum scampered into their seats for an explanation of the pandemonium that was breakout out all across the nation. Terrorist attacks, the death of the Deputy Director and his wife, and assailants on the loose were more than the public or the Stock Exchange could endure. Everything seemed to be falling apart at the seams. Though the public generally had a favorable opinion of John Stoddard and his management of the country, that opinion was falling precipitously each moment that their concerns went unaddressed. However rare it was for Stoddard to actually meet with the press and take questions, the events of the past 24 hours demanded an appearance.

If one were judging by looks alone, John Stoddard's demeanor and stance would have set all hearts at ease. Tall and still ruggedly handsome in his 60s, he had been a businessman for many years before coming to Washington and the skill and salesmanship that he had obtained through that experience had paid big dividends for him any time he had to stand before the public and make a political speech. But flowery speeches written by seasoned speech-writers were quite different from meeting face to face with an adversarial press, each trying to trip over one another to be the one to get that one soundbite that would lead the news on all networks for perhaps weeks to come. Despite his calm exterior, John Stoddard was a bundle of nerves.

After a few moments of brief introduction by his Press Secretary, Stoddard took the podium and read his own statement.

"My fellow Americans," he began with a stern, authoritative voice, "at approximately 4:30 PM yesterday, in Port Arthur, Texas there was a domestic terror event unlike any this nation has ever seen. 38 people were injured and 8 people killed by a chemical attack perpetrated by faceless cowards wishing to overthrow this government and indeed this country through the use of nefarious means. Later in the day, they attacked and murdered the Deputy Director of the FBI, Garrison Kennedy, and his wife, and seriously injured his daughter while they were staying in a cabin together as a family in rural Virginia. Kennedy served the nation well for many years and this is a great loss to our government and the FBI. These people have proven their point that they are dangerous people to reckon with, but I would like to address them right here and now. If you are listening, however dangerous you are, we are more so. To you who woudl wreak havoc in this land, I say, we have never bowed to terror. We _will_ never bow to terror. And try as you may, you will never succeed in your goals. We will hunt you. We will find you. And we will bring you to justice, dead or alive – it doesn't matter – your reign of terror will end.

As you can probably understand, things are quite hectic around here at the moment, so I will now take a few brief questions from the Press Corps before heading back to work." Stoddard said as he opened up the floor. Nearly everyone in the seats raised their hands to be recognized.

"Yes, you over there with the brown tie." He said, pointing at a man in the front.

"Yes, sir." said the reporter. "John Watkins, CNN. The nation is getting understandably nervous with the recent rash of attacks that have been happening around the country. First, the attacks along the eastern side of the country followed by the apparent murder of Director Grier and now the murder of Deputy Director Kennedy and his family. It is leaving the public with the impression that your administration is no longer in control of the country. What do you have to say about that?"

Stoddard shifted his feet and replied. "Mr. Watkins, what I have to say is that we have names of those involved and we have insight into what it is they are after. Due to the sensitive nature of this investigation, however, I can not go into much detail about specifics. Suffice it to say, this case is my administration's number one priority and we will not stop until order is restored. Yes, you…I believe it is Kara Mitchell?"

"Yes, sir. Kara Mitchell, Fox News. You spoke of the grizzly murder of Deputy Director Kennedy last night and prior to that, Director Grier was also the victim of an apparent homicide. Do you believe that this group is targeting the FBI specifically, and if so, what are you doing to protect Director Abramson, Associate Director Monk, and other higher ups within the administration?" she asked.

"We are not at liberty to discuss our methods for protection, but we have taken the threat seriously and while we do not believe the FBI is a target specifically, we are ramping up security for all of our personnel in this administration. Incidentally, with Kennedy's untimely demise, it is now Deputy Director Monk. He is second in command. Taking his place as Associate Deputy Director is Will Jeffries. I have time for one more question. You, in the red tie."

"Yes, President Stoddard. Gordon Mayhew, Village Voice. One of your jobs as President is to do everything within your power to protect this country from enemies foreign and domestic. With this string of attacks we have seen a real shortfall in your capability to fulfill this duty. This has added to the general lack of ease around the country, which we are seeing in indicators such as increased gun sales and stock market decreases. If these attacks continue, and you are not able to quickly apprehend the perpetrator or perpetrators, are you prepared to step down from your role as President and allow another person, perhaps who _is_ capable of protecting the country, step into your place?"

Stoddard was slightly taken aback by the question, and even found it a bit disrespectful. Step down? was that what this moron was really suggesting? He tried to maintain composure, but the suggestion caused his emotions to rise. He straightened his eye and leaned one arm across the top of the podium and looked the reporter with steely eyes.

"Mr. Mayhew, it may seem to you that the office of President of the United States is some omnipotent and omniscient force that can at the drop of a hat rid the world of all evil, but I can assure you that it is not. My administration is VERY active, in ways that you cannot even imagine, using every technology within our means, trying to solve this case as quickly as possible and with as little damage as possible, and we have agents stationed in various places to ensure…"he said.

"Various places? Does that mean you know where they are going to strike next?!" a sharp female reporter shouted out.

"Mr. President, do they have a list of demands?" shouted another.

"President Stoddard, what do you have to say to the victims of the attack in Port Arthur and their families when they ask how a chemical attack could possibly happen on US Soil?" shouted a third.

Stoddard hesitated for just a second which appeared as weakness to the press and the nation.

All at once, a conglomerate of reporters began talking over one another. John had inadvertently opened Pandora's box and had given them their headline.

* * *

By noon Eastern Time every news channel ran with devastating headlines: _Feckless Government Hiding Target Cities, People Demand Answers; Incompetent Stoddard's Future in Doubt as Terror Orgs Take America; American People Fed Up With Government Secrecy At Their Expense, Congress Considers Impeachment; Stock Market Plunges To Nine Year Low Among Terror Fears…_ on and on it went.

People gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue, picketing Stoddard and demanding he step down. Foreign leaders called him becoming nervous as to his standing in the country. And political opposition took that opportunity to capitalize on the tragedy…anything was fair, in their minds, in love and politics.

Sitting in a hotel room in Rockville, Maryland sat Sammy Miller and a few of his partners in crime. They were reveling in the chaos, and they took Stoddard's bold statement against them as something of a challenge.

"Cowards? You call us cowards?" Sammy said. "You will soon see what a coward really is Stoddard." he said, putting out a cigarette in a can of cola.

* * *

In San Francisco, Leland dropped Adrian off at the University of California Berkeley's library first thing in the morning and promised he would meet him there to work on the case around noon. When he arrived, he found Monk sitting at a table with his reading glasses on, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books and folders about the history of the college. Knowing his friend and his sense of organization as he did, he knew Adrian had already been through the largest stack, speed reading the books in order to find whatever it was he was looking for. He was sure that he hadn't heard the news about the President's disastrous presser, and didn't want to distract his train of thought by telling him just then. So, he simply pulled up a chair and sat beside his friend and launched into the discussion.

"Hey Buddy, finding anything good?" Leland asked.

Adrian did not look up, but was studying a book called _Berkeley in Photos_: _1868-1968 – the First Hundred Years._

"Hi, Leland. Depends on your definition of _good._ But, if you mean am I finding anything, yes I am." Adrian said. "Alllthough…" he continued, "I would say what I'm finding has revised my theory just a bit. And I'm not very happy about it."

Leland grimaced and then leaned forward. "If you're not happy, I'm not happy. What have you got?"

"Well..if I were to talk to you about multiple domestic attacks at various sights of some sort of strategic importance for the purpose of overthrowing the government, what do you think of?" Adrian asked.

"I think of the current situation." Said Leland.

"Yeah. What else." said Adrian.

Leland paused and thought. "Well…I think of the anti-war movement in the 1960s and 70s." he said.

"Exactly." Said Adrian.

Leland looked towards Adrian with a furrowed brow. "You saying that hippies from the 1960s are carrying out these attacks?" he said, dubious of the very words leaving his lips.

Adrian chuckled, "No…no…no… They aren't carrying out the attacks. Half of those guys are pushing 70."

Leland looked relieved. "Then what?"

"They are the Masterminds of them." Adrian replied.

Leland raised his eyebrows.

"Alright…here's what happened. This series of attacks did not start happening until this year for a reason. July 4th 1967, Boston, Massachusetts – fifty years to the day prior to the attack that we witnessed at Boston harbor– a violent student hippy group called the "War and Peace Brigade" planned a bombing of the Army Recruiting Center near Fort Independence. Unfortunately for them, before their Volkswagen Van could arrive at the Center, there was a short in circuitry of the actual bomb and it blew up the van and the students that were inside.

Up until that point, there had been no blood drawn in these protests, though many within their ranks believed that it was time to give an eye for an eye for America's involvement in Vietnam. Overthrowing what they believed was American Imperialism and Racist Ideology against non-whites was a cause worth dying for, however the leadership of the group disagreed and they disbanded.

Because of other crimes they had committed as a part of their protests, most of the group, violent side and less violent side, was being heavily pursued by the FBI and was ultimately forced to go underground. As the war wore on, people began to forget about them and the terrorist mystique surrounding them faded. By 1980, they grew tired of the fugitive life and many of them turned themselves in. However, most did not see any heavy jail time because the methods the FBI used in pursuing them were in themselves unconstitutional and in some cases illegal."

"What became of them?" Leland asked.

"Here's where it gets interesting. They started over. They rejoined society. They joined the government. They became high school teachers, college professors, engineers. To the average person, they became just like us.

Some grew ashamed of their conduct during those years. Regardless of whether they were right or wrong on Vietnam, the way they protested the war, racism and what they saw as unrestrained American Imperialism was wrong. People died unnecessarily, their friends, and that ate at their conscious- the ones who had one. They felt they had gone too far. Those people went and pursued more effective ways to change the public's thinking. They taught students to peacefully protest what they didn't agree with and to get involved in their world and be the change makers.

The others…the ones who did not feel guilt, felt that the movement hadn't gone far enough and they continued to have a bitter taste in their mouths about how their movement ended. They too became educators in the world, government officials, doctors, cops and even military and taught some in the next generation to pursue violence as a means of protest. Their students in turn taught another generation of students to do the same. Rather than teaching others to peacefully work it out or at least try to understand their differences, they were successful at emblazoning this bitter spirit into the minds of some their students and those students have carried forward this plan at this modern day." Monk explained.

"So our modern anarchists are the seeds of this movement?" asked Leland.

"Yes, as well as some of the social emphases we see today – some to the good some to the bad. Some handled peacefully and with the desire to further understanding. Some handled poorly with the desire to harm." Adrian said.

"Makes sense. But, you said I had _unique experience_ regarding this." Leland said.

"Yes, remember your role as the peacekeeper during the Berkeley riots in the 1980s, riots against Nuclear Proliferation…You were right there in the middle of it trying to enforce the law. You arrested people and interviewed people whose voices represent part of the mindset that we see in the NAPLF." Monk said.

"None of those people were murderers." Leland said.

"A few were violent though. Remember the pipe bomb set outside the nuke plant?" Adrian said.

"Yeah. Nobody was injured. Found out it was some college kid trying to make a point. He spent a few months in jail and was let go." Stottlemeyer replied.

"That's where we find our key." Said Adrian.

"Hunting down those kids?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"No, finding out who taught them." Said Adrian. "The first person we need to talk to has a class that ends at one o'clock. Damon Brown."

"Brown…Brown…where have I heard of him." Leland mused.

"Former intelligence chief. One of the richest men in the world. I think he was a civil rights attorney during the time of the Berkeley riots. You may have run into him in court." Said Monk.

"Yes. That's right. Damon Brown. He got the sentence dropped for one of the guys I was trying to prosecute for assault of this bystander who walked by his protest line. How is he involved?" Leland asked.

"He knew Sharon Grier, or at least the person we now know as Sharon Grier. I think she may have been one of this students back in the 80s. I've been looking through these photos to see if I might even spot her in the crowd. Call it a hunch." Monk said.

"You think the late Director of the FBI was an anarchist?" asked Leland.

"I think she was an anarchist only in the sense she was willing to do anything to topple this government and bring about a Communist regime. I believe she is the one who helped them to come up with all of these Libyan arms – particularly so now that they are using more lethal weaponry such as chemical weapons." Monk said.

"And, you think they killed her. Why?" asked Leland.

"She got sloppy. They were in the middle of an operation and she tried to come on to me and revealed part of their hand. They always get sloppy." Said Adrian.

"You're right. Sooner or later, if they aren't killed, someone usually slips." Said Leland.

"And that's when we get them." Said Monk "The President called me this morning and told me about everything that went down yesterday. He was very agitated. Not looking forward to talking to the press at all. He is holding me and Abramson personally responsible to make sure that there are no more deaths." Monk said.

"How are you supposed to do that? These guys are slick." Said Leland.

"By finding their leader, and stopping him." Said Adrian. "Listen, it's 12:45 PM. How would you go like to pay a visit to a certain professor with me?"

Leland looked at his friend and smiled. "I would love it."


	30. Chapter 30

Damon Brown had been a staple in the California penal system for nearly 40 years. He graduated Magna Cum Laude from Stanford University in 1972 and first served as an aid to the Attorney General of California before switching gears and founding his own law firm in 1975. He seldom lost a case, and soon his skill at legal argument merited him various distinctions within the California Bar Association, making him the youngest lawyer to ever attain the honor of Attorney of the Year by that Institution.

In addition to his already busy career as a practicing attorney, he taught law classes at Berkeley from 1979-1988 and then ran for Attorney General himself in 1990. He narrowly lost that race to a former prosecutor from Los Angeles. Undeterred, he used his immense personal wealth and influence to buy himself a role as Inspector General for the State of California where he served under several administrations and from there went on the national stage where he served as Stoddard's Predecessor's Intelligence Chief for eight years.

Now, at 68 years old, he had returned to California to his practice which now had associate branches throughout the state; and, he had returned to teaching law at Berkeley, the one area that he felt he could make an enduring difference.

He had lived a hard and fast life and these days, he didn't bother with anyone that he didn't have to. In fact, he did whatever it was he wanted to do. One of the richest men in the nation, he didn't have to work if he didn't want to. But, Brown loved to stay busy and therefore he did. He routinely had people from the legal world, from the media, and from the political world knocking on his door asking for an audience and he routinely turned them away. They bored him, and the last thing he wanted was to be bored.

However, when he received Adrian Monk's phone call, it was different. It wasn't his position as second in command at the FBI that did it for him, but it was Monk himself. He had watched Monk his entire life and career. As a defense attorney he even tried to model his skills after what it would take to be able to beat Adrian in court. He had never actually worked a case with Adrian and those skills were never put to a direct test. Still, he imagined what it would be like. Now, he was going to meet the man and see how that remarkable mind worked. Mind you, he considered himself Monk's intellectual equal, but that fact in and of itself was a delightful prospect for him as well – because there were precious few that actually fit in that category. When he received the call, he accepted the appointment without hesitation.

* * *

Adrian walked down the familiar halls at Berkeley with Leland at his side. He hadn't been on campus since his college reunion in 2006. The hallways hadn't changed a bit, though surrounded by all of the young college students made him feel ancient.

"Scuse me, gramps." Said one young man who bumped into him in the hallway on the way to go meet his girlfriend who was standing with a few others in their late teens. Oh, how he remembered those days – to be young and idealistic again… or at least to be young.

* * *

Brown's office was on the second floor, down the hallway, where the head of the criminology department used to be. Adrian knew this because before he met Trudy, he spent much of his private time organizing and reading through the extensive number of case files that the Professor had gathered together in order to instruct his students. It's where he learned, at least on paper, how to be a cop.

When they reached the door, Adrian took out a wipe and used it to open the door leading into the office, then he let Leland go in before him.

Brown looked up.

"Can I help you?" he asked before spotting Adrian. "Oh! Adrian! Adrian Monk! We finally meet!" he said, standing and walking right past Leland to shake Adrian's hand. Surprisingly, the handshake itself was not the firm confident one that Adrian was expecting, but a slightly clammy weak one, not unlike a fish as it flaps around on the shore. "Please! Come in!"

"Thank you, Mr. Brown." Said Adrian uncomfortably, while wiping his hand with the wipe he used to open the door.

"This is..this is Police Commissioner, Leland Stottlemeyer from the San Francisco PD."

Brown finally looked towards Leland. "Stottlemeyer…Stottlemeyer…oh, yes…didn't I beat you in court once?"

Leland pursed his lips and looked slightly embarrassed, "Yes. I'm afraid you did."

"Ah yes. I thought so. Case where my client assaulted the prosecutions' witness. Thomas Farmer, I believe." Brown said.

"You have a good memory. And, it's also good to see that you now admit that he assaulted the guy." Said Leland.

"Yes. I do have an excellent memory, Commissioner. I never forget a thing." Said Brown. "Much like our dear, Mr. Monk here – or should I call you Deputy Director?"

"Adrian…Monk. You can call me by my name. Mr. Brown…" Adrian said.

"Damon." Said Brown.

"Okay. Damon. I'm going to get right to it. We're here because we're investigating the death of Sharon Grier." Said Adrian.

"Yes. Poor Sharon. Awful what happened to her. Electrocuted in her own tub." said Brown.

"It was. It was. We have been trying to figure out who her associates were and who might have wanted to kill her" Monk said.

"Ever hear of a guy named Sammy Miller?" asked Leland.

"Miller? No. No Sammy Miller." Said Brown.

"Okay, we believe he was involved somehow." Said Stottlemeyer.

"Nope. Never made his acquaintance." Brown replied.

"Harry Kingston, the Senate Majority Leader for whom she worked at one time said that he used to see you and Sharon together a lot. And he felt that you had a lot to do with getting her the job she had at the FBI." Adrian said.

"Good old Harry. Has been several years since I have seen him. Has he stopped swindling people out of their millions?" Brown asked.

"I really don't know anything about his personal life. All I know is we have tried to run a background check on Sharon Grier and we hit a brick wall at around 2003. Her educational credentials don't pan out. Nothing. It's like she just suddenly appears. We were wondering if perhaps since you two appeared close, if you knew anything about her prior to then? Was Grier a married name? Anything, you know, that we can go on…" Adrian said.

"Know something about her prior? Why would I? I worked with her when she worked in Harry's office and then pulled a few strings to get her into the FBI, that's true. But knowing Sharon Grier before that…no…I didn't." he said.

"Why did you expend energy getting a low-level employee of Kingston's into the intelligence agency?" Leland asked.

"Because she was bright. She was ambitious. I felt she would be a good fit." He answered.

"And you had no other, um, more personal relationship with her?" asked Adrian.

"Do you mean was I sleeping with her?" Brown asked. "If that's what you're wondering, the answer is no. Sharon's wiles may have vexed many a man, but they never worked on me. To me, she was simply a comrade in the cause, at least the cause as it stood at the time."

"What cause was that?" asked Stottlemeyer.

"The transformation of this nation into a more just place, of course. Why would anyone want to be in the justice system for any other reason? What reason is there to do _anything _else?

You know, someone once said _The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways. The point, however, is to change it._ That was our credo. Sharon and I. That was our, as you say, modus operandi. Whether it was in the courtroom or the boardroom or the halls of Washington DC itself, we had the vision to take this crazy world and turn it upside down to bring about social justice and economic freedom for all." Brown said.

As Adrian scrunched his shoulders and neck, Stottlemeyer asked a pertinent question. "And do you think you succeeded?"

Brown looked at Leland with a scornful smile. "Not yet, Commissioner. But, I'm working on it."

* * *

The moment Monk and Leland closed the door to Brown's office the two men turned to one another and said simultaneously to each other– "He's the guy!"

* * *

Back in Washington D.C., President John Stoddard and his wife Gloria were leaving a matinee theatre revival of _My Fair Lady_ at the Kennedy Center with their niece Ruth and her children Liam and Emma. It was rare for them to get out together as a family, but with Ruth's husband Jason out of the country on business, they were getting to reconnect with her and share some memories that would last a lifetime for her beautiful children. Secret Service surrounded the theatre and the President's armored car was at the ready making it a relatively safe venture for them and a welcome escape. However, a few people from the press managed to get word that the President was there and approached him immediately upon exit.

"Mr. President, have you made any progress in finding the criminals who attacked Port Arthur?" one asked.

"I'm not able to comment at this time as to where we stand in this case since the situation is still quite volatile…Gloria dear, would you please get Ruthie and the children into the car." He said.

"Where are they going to strike next?" asked another press person.

"It is our goal to make sure that they strike nowhere. And, I can assure you that we have our best people on the job." Said Stoddard, beginning to get into the car.

"Mr. President." Said another man who walked up from the sidelines. "What makes you feel like you can stop what has been ordained to happen?" he said, sending a shiver down Stoddard's spine.

He sat in the car and shut the door, then rolled down the window.

"To stop that which is ordained, I cannot do. I have no delusions as such. But, the very fact that I know about it may indeed be an indicator that I am ordained to stop that which is planned. I choose to believe the latter." He said before rolling up his window and being taken back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

As the crowd dispersed, the 'reporter' stepped to the side and began walking down the street. As the man, Sammy Miller, lit a cigarette he sneered. "We'll see, Stoddard. We'll see."


	31. Chapter 31

_Operation Clean _Sweep began on the evening of August 1st. It was a top-secret initiative of the FBI that had surprisingly taken only a couple of weeks to set up. Preacher Armstrong led the action, under the authority of Deputy Director Monk who was still in San Francisco digging into data on Damon Brown.

Preacher grew up in the inner-city streets and was accustomed to inner-city warfare as a way of life, unlike many of the well-coiffed suits in the upper echelon FBI. He knew how people in the "Hood" thought. He knew their patterns. As a minister, he had tried to alleviate some of the conditions that drove young men and women to be less than they could be. As a cop, he tried to keep compassion in mind while still enforcing justice. It was not always an easy line to tread because he could not rest easy knowing there were dangerous criminals still on the street. Part of him was ready to take down anyone who meant mischief and stick them in jail. The other part wanted to rehabilitate whoever he could. At least that is how things normally ran. Not this time.

Preacher was dead set on taking down anyone who had something to do with the death of his family – particularly Sammy Miller. Yet, he was raised with truly Christian mores and had sought to live what he preached for his entire adult life, so he was at a point where he was desperately trying to suppress any conflict he felt in his heart. The best way he knew to do this was to just 'be a cop' in the approach to the case. This involved researching the evidence well, and involving others when he needed assistance. He had to discipline himself to not launch out like the Lone Ranger, knowing his emotions might get in the way of his final goal. If anyone were to evaluate how he were doing in that regard, knowing the case history, they would have to be impressed.

The first person he reached out to was Adrian, who had been closer to the evidence than he was by several weeks. The one thing that Monk wanted him to find out was who provided the chatter that Sharon Grier used to launch the whole investigation. Adrian suspected he knew, but needed Jedediah to confirm. The second thing Monk and Abramson wanted to find out was how Kennedy's safe house was compromised. That too proved to be relatively easy to find out.

In the first area, the answer came from an encrypted hard drive in Sharon's safe. They had discovered the drive when they found Kennedy's personal FBI file prior to sending him to the safe house, and had been working on de-encrypting it from that point in time. It took a good two weeks after Kennedy's death before they unlocked the data, and now, in the comfort of his workspace at FBI headquarters, Preacher Armstrong opened up a treasure trove of information that likely had been expected to be destroyed, but for some reason Grier had held onto. Emails, blueprints, addresses of terror personnel were all there in that tiny metal box that would be used to take down the entire Enterprise.

Armstrong carefully made notes of key people and places for future use, and then read through the emails to "Blackbird" from "Apollyon" which were her instructions for each step of the venture. After the first attack in Boston, she received an email which detailed the places that were expected to be affected. She was instructed to call it "chatter" because Apollyon wanted to enjoy playing a little game with the Feds to see if they could figure out which actual place would be the target. He especially wanted to see how long it would take Adrian Monk to figure things out as he prepared him for the grand finale in San Francisco.

Preacher made a note of the email address, but knew it was likely not traceable and he made a note – "Chatter never existed. Was the setup" so he could tell his boss when he reported to him later that day.

As to Kennedy's demise, this came through a different channel that proved surprisingly fruitful. It seems that Kennedy wasn't the only one placing bugs in cell phones. Grier had seen to it that Kennedy and his family were also bugged, as were leaders of the various core groups that were handling their part in the mission. Kennedy's daughter's cell phone was what gave their location away – a fact that Preacher vowed to never reveal to the girl who still had a long road ahead of her to recover, now as an orphan.

After reviewing the hard drive, Armstrong made contact with the police stations in the areas already hit in order to identify the whereabouts of the rogue operations in their cities, apprehend those responsible, and perhaps find additional clues that would be the key to laying open their entire network. This was the kind of intelligence he was used to and it had been his feeling from prior experience that ofttimes the Feds were just a little too cocky in their jobs to go seeking after it from someone as lowly as the boys in blue. Their loss was his gain. It took a couple of days, but through diligent effort, the use of Grier's hard drive information and a lot of cooperation from the locals, they were able to locate the individual parties that they believed responsible in Boston, New York, Missouri, Chicago, and Orlando. And now, on the evening of August 1st, Abramson and Preacher were able to speak with Monk via private communication and let him know that _Operation Clean Sweep_ had gone off with greater success than expected and without a shot. Also, they let him know that 'the birds are singing' which was, pun intended, music to his ears.

* * *

Up until that point Monk and Natalie, and when he was able to step away, Leland, had taken each afternoon to go through the arduous task of reconstructing the life of Damon Brown. At times, this entailed mind-numbing reviews of newspapers and caselaw. Other times it involved speaking with people who knew Brown from his teen years on up. By the time _Operation Clean Sweep_ went down, they had compiled quite a biography of the man, and Monk began to get a true picture of what made him tick. He still was still unaware of why Brown was so fascinated with the Monks, nor did he have any idea of where the man and his 'Comrades' were going to strike next. But, he could clearly see that Brown fancied himself a social justice 'warrior' and he looked for him to strike in areas where these leanings could be displayed in their full glory. Would it be a government building? If so, Sacramento would have been the better choice. A school? Not exactly a place where social justice issues were ignored. Where could it be?

On the afternoon of August 2nd, they were just about to wrap things up for the day when, as it so often happens, a breakthrough came. Natalie was combing through some of the pictures one more time from the anti-nuke protests at Berkeley, mainly as a diversion because she enjoyed seeing their pal Leland looking so expressive as he tried to hold back the angry mob. She was just about to turn the page when she spotted something that made her mouth drop open.

"Honey! Over here! Look at this!" she said.

Adrian was deep in thought reading through a peer-reviewed journal which featured Brown's writings, and was slightly bothered at the interruption; but, he dutifully did the right thing, marked his place, and walked over by Natalie's side to see what she had found.

"Whatcha got?" he asked, fatigued from hours of study.

"This picture. Do you see anything interesting?" she asked.

Unwilling to play guessing games, he barely gave the photograph a glance and shrugged it off. "It's a picture of Leland with the Nuke mob. What about it?"

Natalie was tired too and picked up on her husband's insubordination. She backhanded him in the gut and told him to look closer. Adrian rolled his eyes but obeyed her command, leaning in to take a closer look. As he reviewed the crowd his mouth dropped open and he blinked several times to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was. He looked up at Natalie and became uncharacteristically speechless.

"You see it?" she asked.

He just nodded his head yes. He saw it. There in the picture, in the third row towards the left behind Leland, standing with the protestors, were a young Damon Brown, Sharon Grier and Trudy's murderer, Ethan Rickover.


	32. Chapter 32

Bedlam is the word that could best describe Damon Brown's confederation of Terrorists after _Operation Clean Sweep_ went down. Other than Washington D.C., East Coast branches were effectively shut down. There was a news blackout, so any news about the raids was coming through hysterical family members or neighbors of the criminals who might have witnessed the sights and sounds of the take down. Among the groups that remained, there was confusion. The Los Angeles group was ready to abandon efforts, and the Washington D.C. group had already scattered, despite their leader, Sammy Miller's threats of physical violence. All alone, Sammy Miller was angry, and he recklessly called Brown on his private number to tell him so.

"What the #$% just happened, Brown?" he screamed into the phone.

"Good morning, Sammy. Is this line secure?" Damon asked, as he packed a few items into a briefcase, preparing to leave his office.

"Take your security and shove it up your #$, I want to know what just went down. A lot of hard work went into building those networks and in a single night the Feds come in and dismantle them all? If that is your idea of security, then you're insane." Said Miller.

"Sammy…Sammy…Sammy….calm down. Everything is under control. Those operations weren't needed any more anyway. Everything we have planned is still operating on schedule." Said Brown.

"That ain't what I hear. All my people are gone! The L.A. folks are ready to bolt, and the Las Vegas guys just gave me a call asking if they should go underground. People are nervous, Damon. So…what's the plan?" said Miller.

"The plan? The plan is to stay put until operations are complete." Brown stated.

"That's it? I don't think you're understanding. Our names and addresses were compromised. The Feds are liable to come knocking on this door any minute. What do you want me to do?" asked Miller.

"Sammy, your portion of the operation is complete. You have done your job. Now, you just have to await your reward. I don't have time to worry about keeping you or the rest of the hoodlums occupied. Think of something. And don't call me on this number again, what are you trying to do? Destroy the Finale?" he asked.

* * *

As the call completed, Sammy Miller took his cell phone and threw it across the room. He was even more angry than before. Brown had callously dismissed the entire operation and treated all those who had gone before him as expendable. Was that how he felt about him as well? Miller had a sneaking suspicion that he did, and he wasn't about to be discarded like yesterday's news.

"Alright, Brown" he said to himself. "If you're not going to lead, I will. I am not your fool and at the end of the day, it will be Sammy Miller's name that people remember, not Damon Brown." He said to himself as he grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

* * *

Natalie stood over her husband's shoulder as he poured through articles and books that he had taken home from Berkeley's library. Old wounds were ripped wide open the moment he saw Rickover's face, and the same obsession that he had with solving Trudy's murder now possessed his mind as he wanted to know what Brown and Grier had to do with Rickover. They had stopped by Brown's office, only to find it empty, almost as if he had never been there. This made it all the more urgent to find out what he was up to and to stop him.

* * *

At daybreak the next morning, she wandered through the Stottlemeyer house to find out where her husband had gone. She found him and Leland at the kitchen table mapping out what needed to happen next. He wanted to know the names of all of the people arrested at the Berkeley rallies and whether or not those individuals were a part of the Law school. He figured that Rickover and Brown were both professors at that point, but Sharon looked like a student, and he was anxious to see if there might be any hits on her name. Meanwhile, he and Natalie were going to look for the significance of _Sam A_. Perhaps Sam was for Samantha? Or perhaps it was some historical monument that was going to be attacked. Whatever, they all felt that with much of his team now in federal custody, Brown should be considered all the more dangerous. As such, they were burdened with the thought they were in a race against time.

By noon, Leland had gathered together the list and determined there were no Sharon Griers in that list; however, he called Adrian back at the house to let him and Natalie know there was a Sasha Gertsikov whose age and description matched that of Sharon Grier. She was the daughter of a Russian businessman and suspected KGB agent who had his own file with the FBI dating back to the McCarthy era. There was never enough information to convict him of anything, but his radical views had been passed on to Sasha who had been cited several times for disturbing the peace in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In spite of this, she had never been arrested, so there were no mugshots. However, there was still an active warrant for her dating to 2001 which is the last point in time that she was heard from.

"Well, that's more information than we had at this point yesterday." Said Natalie, as Adrian hung up the phone.

"Yes. It is." Adrian responded, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down by his pile of books. "Hey, I know you mentioned that you were going to go drop the kids off at your parents' house, and then help Ambrose and Heather pick out a suit for him for the convention this weekend. Why don't you drop me off and when you're done, stop back by the library and we go have a nice dinner someplace?"

"Angelica's Bistro?" she suggested.

"Sure. It's been a long time since we've been there. It'll be a great break from this stuff." He said.

She walked over to him and gave him a hug.

"What was that for?" he asked, with a slight smile.

"For not letting stones go unturned." She said, as she turned and walked towards the nursery. "Come on, I told Ambrose and Heather I would meet them at the menswear store at 3:00. If I'm going to drop Lee and Abby off _and_ help your brother, I need to hustle."

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." He said, straightening all of the books up in an even row, then grabbing his notebook and heading towards the door. She met him at the intersection and handed him Lee, while she grabbed the diaper bag and Abby and they headed towards the Davenports with secret service detail in tow.

* * *

Preacher Armstrong was abruptly called into Abramson's office late that afternoon just as he was packing up to go home. The head of the FBI was in a panic.

"Armstrong! Get in here now!" he exclaimed. "We've got trouble!"

Preacher put down his things and promptly joined his boss in the office.

"What's up, Chief?" he asked.

"I just got off of the Phone with Susan Fleming, the head of the Department of Homeland Security. The President's niece was at the mall this afternoon with her little girl Emma. She turned her back for five seconds and someone picked up the child and began running. A policeman on duty fired shots at the man, and there was a little blood, so we think he is hit. But, he got away..." Abramson said.

"Oh my! That's awful!" said Preacher.

"It gets worse. Fifteen minutes ago, the DHS received a phone call from a person claiming that he has Emma. He identified himself as Sammy Miller. He said he would give us a list of his demands soon, but that for now, Emma was safe." Abramson said. "Were you able to get anything from that phone traffic to Brown yesterday?"

"Sort of. NSA said they placed a tap on Damon Brown's phone and traced the call back to an apartment in Alexandria. They also said that they recorded a portion of the call and that it was an inbound call to Brown from someone identified as Sammy. So, they sent some agents over to the apartment to see if it was our Sammy, but nobody was home. We've had the place staked out all afternoon." Preacher responded.

"Keep on him. Oh, Armstrong…if he hurts that kid…" Abramson said.

"I understand." Preacher said.

"Stoddard's going to have my hide! Do you know how that would look? I can see the headlines now." Abramson continued.

Preacher furrowed his brow, and then shook his head in disbelief. "Sir. A child's life is at stake. Shouldn't we care more about that than a little bad publicity?"

Abramson looked up at Preacher. "I suppose you're right. Armstrong, when you've been around crime as long as I have, you tend to get calloused towards human life. I've put away some of the lowest creeps you could imagine. And I've seen some of the ugliest scenes that I'll never erase from my mind. Frankly, I don't miss that world.

Politics is a different game, and whatever game I'm in, that's the hat I wear. Politics is a perception game. It may not be reality, but if people perceive it to be – then it _is_ reality. We have to be concerned about image here because the nation counts on us to be strong. As such, we have to mess with the press and hope that they do us right. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"I just want to do my job." Said Preacher. "I got into this to pursue justice and that's the side I always want to stand on. Let my yay be yay and my nay be nay. What you see is what you get."

"I admire that in you, Preacher. Hope you can hold to that integrity. If you can, you're a better man than me."

* * *

Adrian and Natalie sat across from one another enjoying the cool San Francisco evening at a restaurant overlooking the Bay. They discussed her day, and then they discussed the case. Adrian's time in the library had been productive.

"We were right about our thoughts on Brown working alongside Rickover at Berkeley. They had offices right next to one another." He said.

"Really?" said Natalie.

"There's more. They went to college together and were college roommates." Adrian said.

"Wow. So, Brown and Rickover were friends? But…I honestly can't see Ethan Rickover spinning his wheels doing political protests, can you?" she asked.

"I can't seem him spinning his wheels doing anything but what he felt was good for his ambition." Adrian said, pensively.

Natalie looked at him and took his hand. "Are you okay?" she asked. "This has to be hard on you. Having this all dredged up again."

"I'm okay." Adrian said.

"Well, if you want to talk…you know if you're feeling weird or anything because, you know…Trudy…you can talk to me. I don't mind." She said.

Adrian looked up at Natalie and smiled sadly, then took her hand and kissed it. "I don't deserve you."

"Oh, stop!" she said, putting her hand to the side of his face.

Adrian looked down at his dessert dish and played around with the remaining morsels with his fork.

"You know, I'm surprised I'm as good with this as I am. You know how much I loved Trudy. I still love Trudy, though she is gone. I'm thankful that I had the time I had with her. But…you've helped me to move on and get past it. You gave me my smile back." He said.

"We've helped each other. Just when we needed each other the most…Who could that possibly be?" she asked, leaning forward and giving him a kiss.

Adrian's dark eyes twinkled against the candlelight as he drank in the sweetness of the woman before him. Somehow, some way, he had to get them away from all of this craziness and back into a feeling of normalcy. But that was a problem for another day.

* * *

Jedediah Armstrong entered his house around 6:30 PM and quickly made himself a steak and some left over green beans for dinner. He had just finished and sat down to relax before the television set when his cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, all he saw was "PRIVATE".

"Preacher here." He answered.

"_Good Evening, Preacher. I hope it is going well for you."_ Said the voice on the other end.

"It's going fine. Who is this?" Armstrong asked.

_"We've never met. My name is Sammy. Sammy Miller." _The voice said.

Armstrong sat up straight. "Miller! What..what do you want?" he asked.

_"I have the President's grand-niece. Emma, I believe is her name. I want to meet with you. Tonight. At eight-thirty. Korean War Memorial. Come alone or little Emma will follow the path of your wife and child." _

**click**

Preacher sat quietly for several seconds and then looked at the clock. It was now 7:45 PM. Silently, he bowed his head and said a simple prayer "Thy will be done" before standing up to leave. He walked over to his closet and opened his gun safe, retrieving his service revolver and two extra clips of ammunition. Then, he looked around the house, picked up his jacket and immediately walked out into the evening. Perhaps tonight would be the night that Selina and J.J. would get their justice.


	33. Chapter 33

Adrian and Natalie were later than expected when they came to pick up Lee and Abby from the Davenports. This didn't bother Bobby and Peggy, however, for the children had been the highlight in their otherwise routine day.

Now just a few days short of five months old, the children were both little explorers whose eyes seemed to light up at each new thing. They were both sitting up on their own and loved to play and laugh. Lee was showing signs he might just skip over crawling altogether and go straight to walking, as his chubby little legs were able to hold quite a bit of their own weight with the help of grandma and grandpa. Abigail, was just happy being in her own little world and was a little flirt. She was the more emotional of the two, at least externally, and had her grandpa wrapped around her little finger the moment she entered the house.

By 8:00 PM, they were both ready for a good night's rest, so the Davenports took them up to a guest bedroom and laid them down in baby beds that they had bought when Natalie had visited in July.

Going back down to the living room, Peggy poured herself a glass of sparkling water and offered Bobby the same. She had made the decision that drink had become too much of her life and was trying to cut back. Bobby accepted the offer, so she finished her bar tending and came and sat down next to him for a talk.

Theirs was a marriage that was often more of a business relationship than a marriage, however, there were those moments where, when it was just the two of them, they reconnected on a special level – the kind where one spouse immediately knows what the other is thinking and they are on the same plain. Tonight was one of those nights.

"Wow. Those two sure have the ability to remind you how old you are." Bobby stated, taking his drink from Peggy and inviting her to sit down beside him on the sofa.

"Old in body, but young at heart. Don't you somehow feel younger? More alive?" Peggy asked.

Bobby thought. "You know, you're right. It's almost like when Natalie and Jonathan were children…except we don't have to worry about things as much…we can just enjoy our time with them."

"The best of both worlds." Peggy said, sipping her drink and looking out over a living room flanked with old family photos of memories past.

"You know Bobby…" she began, hesitantly.

He sighed. "Don't say it, I think I already know." He replied.

Peggy stopped and looked him in the eyes. "What am I thinking?" she asked.

"You're thinking that since I've been stepping away from Davenport Toothpaste, that you would like it if we could spend more time with the grand kids." He replied.

Peggy's mouth curved upward into a grin. "You're the only man who can read my mind."

He looked at her knowingly. "That's probably a good thing." He said, before taking a sip from his own glass. "So, what what do you think we should do, Mrs. Davenport?"

* * *

At 8:45 PM the doorbell rang and Peggy rose from the comfort of her seat to let Adrian and Natalie in.

"Good evening, darlings! Did you have a good time?" she asked cheerfully.

Natalie walked in first and studied her mother's expression. She anticipated her to be miffed that they were so late. They were expected home by 7:30 PM. But, instead of being perturbed, she seemed downright chipper.

"Hi Mom. Yes. Adrian and I had a lovely time." She answered.

"We did, Peggy. Thank you for asking." Adrian said, taking off his jacket and draping it over his arm, then kissing Peggy on the cheek. Walking through the foyer, he said "Good evening, Bobby."

Bobby looked up and nodded, tilting his glass towards Adrian. "Evening, son."

_Son? Okay, that was kinda weird._ Natalie thought to herself.

"Is everything okay?" Natalie asked, furrowing her brow.

"Oh, yes dear. Your father and I were just talking." Peggy said.

"Where are…?" Adrian interrupted.

"Abby and Lee? Oh, they are upstairs. Seems these two old people wore them out." Peggy smiled. "Come on into the living room, and join us."

The Monks walked into the living room as Bobby stood and moved over to an arm chair, allowing room for the two of them to sit on the three person sofa.

"Would you like something to drink?" Peggy asked.

"No, Mom. It's late. Don't want to drink alcohol and then drive to Leland and TK's." Natalie said.

"I wasn't suggesting alcohol, darling. We have sparkling water, fruit juice, soft drinks?" Peggy said.

"Um…okay. I'll have a Coke." Natalie said.

"And you, Adrian dear?" Peggy asked.

"Do you have tomato juice?" he asked.

"Yes. Tomato Juice and Bloody Mary Mix. Which would you like?" she asked.

"I'll just have the juice." He replied.

While Peggy made the drinks, Bobby made conversation.

"So, Adrian. How are those investments working out that I told you about?" he asked.

"I…I'm sure they are okay." Adrian said.

"Adrian's not real good with money Dad." Natalie blurted out.

Adrian looked slightly offended. "What do you mean, I'm not good with money? I made us millionaires, right?"

"Only by not paying any attention to what you had in your savings account." She said.

"Well…" Adrian said, throwing out his arms as if there was some point in there somewhere.

"Honey, think about it. The whole time I have known you, up until the point in time that you discovered your nest egg… you were almost always broke." She said.

"Well, I paid you…semi-regularly." He mumbled.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Listen. Don't take offense to this. It's not your thing, and that's okay. Actually, I love that about you. No offense to my father either, but all he had to think about was inheriting money and making more and more money as I was growing up. Your mind is on other things – like solving crimes, and putting bad guys away." She said.

Adrian took the glass of tomato juice from Peggy and made a conscious decision not to argue. "If you say so, dear." He said.

"I say so." She said, raising her chin with a little air of superiority of having won this round. "Anyway, Dad… _I, me, Natalie, _ took your advice and have invested it exactly how you told us to. Our three and a half million dollars is now five."

Adrian inhaled and choked a little on his juice, giving Natalie an amazed look.

"Excellent!" Bobby said. "Now you can afford to invest and make some _real _money. I have a few tricks up my sleeve I'd like to show you."

"Oh, money, schmunny." Peggy said, handing Natalie her drink and then sitting down beside her on the couch. "I get so _tired _ of talking about nothing but money. Let's talk about something else." Peggy said.

The four sat awkwardly for about ten seconds before Natalie spoke up. "What would you like to talk about?"

Peggy smiled. "I'd like to talk about what your plans are after this case is over. Does Adrian plan on staying in D.C. or will you be moving back to Boston?"

Natalie looked over at Adrian and said slowly, "I believe the plans are to move back to Boston."

"Yes. Those are the plans." Adrian confirmed.

"I think that is for the better. Politics is such an ugly business. It's better that you return home where you can raise your children in a somewhat normal environment." Peggy said.

"Do you plan on being a stay-at-home Mom?" Bobby asked.

Natalie shifted a little, unsure of how they would respond to her answer. "Not entirely. I plan on helping Adrian wherever I can. There is a very good Daycare in Swampscott that deals with gifted children. The doctors can already tell that Lee falls into that category and Abby is not far behind…so, I thought I could utilize their services and Adrian and I could go out and do investigations together."

"That sounds lovely." Peggy said. "And what of those times where the daycare isn't available and you have to be someplace else?"

"Well, I guess we'd just have to get a baby-sitter." Natalie said. This time Adrian shifted in his seat because though they had discussed this, the idea of some stranger watching his children still bothered him.

"Do you have someone in mind?" asked Bobby.

"No. We aren't back at home right now, so no…what is this about?" Natalie asked.

Peggy looked down and then back up at Natalie with a smirk. "What if I told you that you didn't need to look for a baby sitter? What if I told you that your father and I were talking to a real estate agent tonight and we're planning on purchasing a lot just three doors down from your place in Swampscott?"

"What?! Are you serious?" Natalie asked.

Adrian's jaw dropped open and he said nothing, being unsure if he felt this was a good thing or if this was a bad thing.

"If you'll have us, Bobby and I are moving to Boston!" she said.

"Oh, Mom! That's grrreeaattt." Natalie said, also unsure how she really felt.

"We'll still keep the house, here, but we were just talking tonight about how much we want to be a part of our grandchildren's lives. Julie's there and now Lee and Abby. You can have a babysitter any time you need one, and we won't be in your hair because we won't actually be living _in_ your house but a few doors down. Won't this be fantastic?" Peggy said.

"Yeah. It sure will!" Natalie said as Peggy threw her arms around her.

As they pulled apart, Peggy looked up at Adrian and smiled. "Adrian dear, you haven't said a thing. How do you feel about the idea of your in-laws living just a couple of doors down?"

Adrian took a big swig of the rest of his drink and put it down on a coaster on the table, then said the politically correct thing for once in his life. "If it makes Natalie happy, then I'm happy. You'll be a welcome addition."

"Wonderful! Bobby, go call the agent and tell her that it's a deal! East Coast living here we come!" Peggy said, taking Adrian's glass and heading to the bar to refresh the drink as Natalie and Adrian sat looking at one another with a look of _what have we just gotten ourselves into?_

* * *

Sammy Miller could not have picked a more eerie spot for his meeting with Preacher Armstrong, particularly late at night. The Korean War Veterans Memorial was a poignant and sober reminder of war and brotherhood, but its larger than life stainless steel human statues gave off a somewhat ominous air at night. Heightening this effect was the fact that it had begun to drizzle inside the Beltway and the only sounds one could hear were of motorcars reflecting off the granite memorial wall and the rain gently pelting the surface of the metal and ground cover around the display. There were no tourists, just nineteen sculptures of men in ponchos looking out over the vast expanse around them as if an enemy combatant were just about to strike. On this dreary evening, Preacher couldn't help but think that he knew a little bit of how they felt.

"Miller?" he said, just above a whisper and walking slowly into the area from where he parked his car on Daniel French Drive, just southwest of the memorial. There was silence, so he kept walking, hand on his firearm and ever alert for any movement or sound nearby.

"Miller, are you here? It's me. Preacher Armstrong." he said, walking into the center of the triangle. He slowly turned around, looking at the space around him, but all he could see were the softly illumined figures glistening in an ambient light that was now being muted by a thickening fog.

Finally, after a few minutes, he heard the shuffling of a man's feet coming from the circular memorial pool just west of the statues. He wrapped his large hand around the grip of his pistol, and walked towards the sound. As he moved carefully towards the trees surrounding the pool, he saw the orange glow of a cigarette in the shadows and stood still in his tracks.

Speaking directly towards the figure he said, "Miller. If that's you, I'm here, just as you asked. Where's the girl?"

Sammy Miller stepped out from the shadows and threw his cigarette on the ground, stamping it with his foot.

"So, you really came, preacher-man. And you came alone. Brave soul, but I suppose that comes from your training." He said, walking towards Preacher in measured steps and then starting to circle him.

"What is it that you want from me?" Preacher asked.

"From you? Nothing. Not a thing. I just thought I would try to give _you_ a chance to obtain that which you want from me. Revenge." Sammy said.

Preacher was silent.

"Admit it, holy man. You want me dead don't you? You want me dead for taking the life of your lovely wife and that promising young son of yours so many years ago? Don't you?" He continued circling. "You can't let it go. You left the pulpit for it. It's your obsession. The one thing that keeps you going. Finding the person who took your family from you and caused them to die a painful death in flames, and bringing him to justice, right?" He stopped and walked to within six feet of Preacher, now looking him straight in the face.

With jaw clenched and emotionless eyes Preacher looked at this man who had caused him so much grief and contemplated what was before him. Miller was somehow smaller than he had expected. He had wavy salt and pepper hair and a weathered face with a chiseled jaw presently covered by stubble. An old scar marred his cheek, probably something he had from his youth. His voice was raspy and cold in its delivery. He was the quintessential bad guy – looking like a secondary thug from right out of Gotham, and he was now standing directly in front of him.

It all felt surreal. For nearly twenty years, he had looked for this man. He had felt anger – no rage, at times, and at other times felt his heart would nearly rip in two due to the pain of what had happened. But strangely, in the blackness of this night he felt something he hadn't felt ever before. He felt pity. He looked at this person in front of him as the lost soul that he was, so devoid of anything good, so filled with hatred and malice and evil, and he thought that this life was the best that Sammy would ever know and that short of a miracle in his life, the afterlife would be far worse. He loosened his grip on his sidearm.

"All I want is to know where the girl is." Preacher said quietly, looking away from Sammy's face. Sammy laughed, and then rubbed his left arm, where Preacher noticed blood for the first time.

"She's secure." He said, turning his back and walking back towards the pool.

"What have you done with her?" Preacher asked.

"I'll tell you. But first, we need to discuss what needs to happen here. I want for you to go to that criminal, John Stoddard, and tell him that he is to step down no later than 11 PM tonight." Said Miller.

"And then, what?" asked Preacher. "What do you hope to accomplish? John Stoddard is one man."

Sammy reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Tapping it against his leg, he pulled one out and lit it with a match, tossing the spent matchstick onto the ground. Taking a puff, he squinted and looked up at Preacher.

"We want an audience with the world. Prime time television. Every channel. Our demands are nothing short of national revolution. Our goals…" Sammy said, almost by rote.

"No, Sammy. What is it that _you_ hope to accomplish?'' Preacher interupted. "You don't strike me as the kinda guy that would be happy in a world of politics. After all of the killing and destruction…what is it that you hope to have in the end?" he asked.

"Money. I've been promised lots of money." Said Miller.

"Okay. But then what? Money will only take you so far. It won't bring you happiness." Said Preacher.

"What do you care about my happiness?" Miller snarled, and then stood up, pulling out a revolver from inside his pocket. "Come on, Armstrong. Don't you want to take a shot at me? Just one? This is your chance." He said, walking over by one of the trees and leaning against it, haphazardly swinging the gun around as he spoke.

"No, Sammy. I don't. I want you to turn yourself in once you have told me where you have taken the girl." Said Preacher.

"Give me a break! You're not foolin' nobody!" said Sammy, taking the gun and pointing it directly at Preacher. Preacher instinctively reached down and wrapped his hand around his pistol grip once again.

"Sammy, put the gun down." Said Preacher.

"Admit it! You want revenge! You're nothing special! You want vengeance, don't you?" he said tauntingly, drawing out the n in vengeance.

"Sammy. Put the gun down! Just tell me where the girl is." Preacher replied.

"Ah. I see. You need an excuse. Okay, I'll give you the count of three and then I'm gonna fire this weapon right at your chest." Miller said, beginning to stumble and slur his words.

"Sammy, don't!" said Preacher.

"One…Two…" Sammy said, stumbling forward from the tree zone.

"Stop!" Preacher yelled.

"Three!" A loud crack echoed through the air as a bullet, almost in slow motion went through Preacher's jacket sleeve and out the other side missing his body entirely. Preacher instinctively pulled his weapon and fired at Miller, hitting him in his right hand and severing two of his fingers.

Miller dropped the gun, looked at his bleeing hand and turned to run, but Preacher gave chase and easily caught up with him.

Slamming his body to the ground, he held his pistol to Miller's face and bore his weight against his chest with his forearm.

"Ah…sooooo…you are going for vengeance." Said Miller with a nervous laugh.

"No. Vengeance wasn't mine to take in the first place. I want to know where the girl is, and I want to know now!" Preacher said, pressing the muzzle against Sammy's chin and holding tightly to his shirt with the other hand.

"What time is it?" Miller asked.

"About nine-oclock." Answered Preacher.

"You're probably too late." Miller sneered. "She is fastened securely in the hinge of the Woodrow Wilson drawbridge. They have had it open for work all evening and are supposed to close it around nine-thirty. With traffic, you don't have time to get there."

Preacher looked at his watch and then slammed his hand on the ground, then he grabbed his phone.

"You! Don't move an inch!" he said, keeping his gun trained on Miller while dialing the security desk for the FBI. After a moment, the phone picked up.

"Yeah. Preacher Armstrong, working under Deputy Director Monk. I need to talk with Aaron, now! It's an emergency."

He waited for a few seconds then Aaron picked up.

_"Yeah. Preacher? What's up?" _he asked.

"Aaron, I'm at the Korean War Memorial right now with Sammy Miller. I know those two incompetents that you had supposedly watching me are meandering around here somewhere. Can you tell them to high tail it right away and come take this goon in? He told me where the President's grandniece is, and there still may be time…" he said.

"There's no time…" Miller mocked. "You're too late. Her little bones will be going crrrraacckk any minute now…"

Preacher ignored Miller and looked up. "Yeah! I see them. Thanks!" he said, hanging up the phone.

Soon, two armed agents came running up to the men.

"Where were you man? We lost you!" one said.

"Forget it, I'll talk to you about it later. Gotta run. Take him to the nearest police station and have them book him…" he said, then looking down at Miller who was losing consciousness, he reconsidered. "On send thought, call the authorities and tell them that you have him at the nearest hospital. He may still have information we need."


	34. Chapter 34

Preacher ran to his car and peeled out of his parking space making his way out onto the thoroughfare between the War Memorial and the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Since it was so late at night, traffic was somewhat lighter than Miller had indicated; however, because of the road closure due to the bridge repairs, the closer he got to his destination the heavier it became. Without traffic, it would take him around 20-25 minutes to get from point A to point B, but as he edged closer to the scene, it became clear that it was going to be impossible for him to make it on time. Saying a little prayer, he looked around for a plan B. He found it when he spotted a motorcycle cop giving a woman a ticket for texting while driving. He pulled his car to the side of the road and ran up to the man, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, officer." Preacher said, holding up his badge. "Police/FBI emergency. I need to borrow your Motorcycle."

"Preacher?" the man said, looking up. "Is that you, Preacher Armstrong?"

Preacher concentrated on the face just briefly. "Hey, Andrew! Good to see you. Listen man, this really is an emergency. A child's life is at risk and I've got to go."

"Sure. Just bring it back in one piece." The young man said, as Preacher jumped on the bike and took off.

Weaving in and out of traffic, he used the siren on the bike to blaze through stop lights and get around traffic. At 9:25 he looked out towards his left and saw the bridge in all its glory. It was still open.

Driving on the sidewalk, he turned his way towards the bridge and parked the motorcycle just at the edge of the water. He struggled to see in the fog of night, but heard a little girl crying for her Mommy just as he watched the technician move towards the control tower. He yelled for the man to stop, but he could not be heard. So, he road the bike back up the hill and onto the bridge on the stationary part right before the bridge's break. Jumping off of the bike, he ran as fast as he could and scampered down into the break, sliding down the concrete onto a ledge. There, chained to the hinge was little Emma, terrified and wet.

"It's okay, little girl. My name's Preacher. You're going to be okay." He said, pulling himself over the ledge beside her.

He reached over her to try to unfasten the chain but it was too thick. Just then, he heard the machinery begin to fire up followed by the slow creaking of the moving bridge. Looking up, he knew he only had about ten seconds before it would be too late.

He took his jacket off and wrapped it around Emma so that she would not be hit by flying shrapnel and then pulled out his firearm and fired two rounds directly at the chain. On the second impact the metal broke and Preacher was able to release the chain and set Emma free. He held tight to the little girl and just as the bottom of the Bridge plate was about three inches away from his head, scooted towards the edge and plummeted seventy feet from the ledge of the pillar down into the Potomac below.

* * *

The next morning, Preacher woke up in a hospital bed with his security detail sitting closely by his side.

"He's awake." Said one of the men.

The other walked up to him. "Hey, Preach! Great to see you come to." he said.

"Wh…where am I?" Preacher asked, through a pounding headache.

"You're at the hospital. Coast Guard vessel witnessed you jumping off the bridge into the Potomac with the President's niece's daughter." said security guard #1.

"Emma…is Emma okay?" he asked.

"Yes. You saved her life." The guard responded. "President Stoddard himself came by here earlier this morning. "

"And…Sammy?" Preacher asked.

"Sammy is in the hospital." The man answered. "Just down the hall. They stitched him up and we're going to transfer him to the jail later this afternoon."

"I want to see him." Said Preacher. "I want to talk to him."

"Preacher, you had quite the fall. I don't know you're up to it." Said the guard.

"I don't care. I need to talk to him." Preacher replied.

"Okay. We'll see if it is possible, just get some rest." The guard answered, walking out of the hospital room and telling the other guard to stay right there so he could make some calls.

* * *

The Monks and Stottlemeyers heard the news early the next morning that the President's grand niece had been rescued and was expected to be okay. There was little information about Preacher's condition other than that he was stable, and as it often goes with the press, Sammy was the star of the show. They highlighted the fact that he had an extensive rap sheet and was suspected in many crimes, but the ice cream on the cake for them was the rumor that he was the man suspected in the deaths of Director Grier and possibly Deputy Director Kennedy. They promised more news as it came in.

"Well, it looks like Brown's East Coast operations are no more." Said Leland, making himself some coffee.

"Yeah. And maybe with Brown himself on the run, we've been able to stop something big from going down?" Natalie suggested.

"I wouldn't count on it." Adrian replied, sitting at the table and looking over the same set of papers he had been through at least three times prior. "Brown isn't likely to give up just because Sammy Miller has been caught. He's probably someplace right now setting up his next event."

"Well, what do you think?" asked Natalie.

"I think we still need to find out what Sam A. is, and maybe if we could get a warrant to search Brown's place…" Adrian said.

Leland walked over to his briefcase. "Already got it. I figured you and I could run over there after breakfast this morning and take a look."

"Sounds great!" Adrian said, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"Just remember, Ambrose's award's show is tonight. You don't want to be late." Natalie said.

"Oh, I won't. I'll be there." Adrian said, reaching out his hand and placing it over the top of hers.

* * *

As Preacher laid in his bed trying to remember the events of the prior night, he was struck by how different he felt when he actually was face to face with the man who had killed his family. To see him in person and look in those dark angry eyes was difficult, and yet, he had peace about not having taken him out right then and there. It wouldn't have brought his wife and child back. And, if things went as he suspected, Miller was soon to meet a Judge far tougher than any judge and face an infinitely worse fate than anything he would face on earth – given that several of his crimes were death penalty crimes. The preacher in him didn't want anyone to go through that, even his worst enemy. The cop in him was satisfied with the knowledge that no matter what happened, justice would be served one day.

He sat up in bed and decided to get dressed. He was a bit dizzy at first, but quickly regained his equilibrium and walked over to the closet where his street clothes were already dried and folded neatly for his release.

Changing into his pants and t-shirt, he was just about to put on his dress shirt when the door came bounding open.

"He's gone!" the guard said with urgency.

"What?" Preacher replied. "What do you mean, he's gone?"

"He somehow knocked his security out and took his wallet, and then made his escape out of the hospital. He made a call before he left from the phone in his room." The man replied.

"He had a phone in his room?" asked Preacher.

"Yeah…well…" the guard said, embarrassed at the security which was clearly lacking considering Miller was such a high profile criminal.

"Who did he call?" Preacher asked.

"The airport. It looks like he's headed towards the airport." Said the guard.

Preacher put his shirt on the rest of the way and grabbed his wallet. Tucking his shirt into his pants he walked as he tightened his belt.

"Where's my firearm?" said Preacher.

"I have it." Said the guard. "Didn't want it to be laying out."

"Give it here." Said Preacher.

"Sir, you've just been injured." The man said.

"GIVE. IT. HERE!" said Preacher.

"Alright." The guard said, reaching into his pocket and handing Preacher his gun and two clips.

"Let's go." Preacher said.

"Sir, you're not able." Said the guard.

"Son, if you don't get me to a car right now and drive me over to that airport, _you're _going to be the one unable to travel. You got me?" Preacher said.

"Yes sir." The guard said, opening up the door for Preacher and telling the other guard "Come on. We've got to run."

* * *

An hour later, Sammy Miller sat comfortably in the seat of a friend's private PC-12 airplane. The man worked at Dulles international where Sammy called him to have him meet him at a private air strip not far away. He was part of their collective and the team had procured a few get-away planes, equipped with extra fuel tanks for longer distance flying – something Sammy was going to need for his trip to San Francisco.

"I heard they nabbed you. Surprise to see you, man." Said his friend.

"Yeah. They got me, but you know how dumb these guys are. Can't hold Sammy back for long." He said.

"Where we going?" the friend said as he sat down in his seat in the cockpit and checked his instruments one last time before takeoff.

"San Francisco." Said Miller. "With all the Feds around, Brown is going to need some help at the Grand Finale. I'm just his guy."

"Alright. San Francisco it is. That's about a 6 hour flight so we should be there about 3PM. I've got extra firearms and clothes for you in the back. You can also take a little time to shave and make yourself presentable. On second thought, maybe we need to put you in some sort of disguise. Your face is bound to be on every TV screen in America." He said.

"This is good." Said Miller. "Brown will be very happy you helped me. May even get you some good bonus pay."

"My bonus will be to see Stoddard and his guys go down. You make sure that happens." Said the man.

"You got it. I will certainly do so, or die trying." Sammy said as the plane took off into the blue August sky.


	35. Chapter 35

With some resistance from the servants, Adrian and Leland along with several federal agents and SFPD detectives descended upon the home of Damon Brown, and began searching the premises. Making their way into the office, they poured through file drawers, looking at everything from class notes to income tax filings, hoping to find something, anything, that would clue them in to his next attack.

Adrian found a box of old photographs in the closet labeled _The Early Years_, and as he poured through them, his stomach tightened into an angry knot as he saw pictures of Rickover and Brown yucking it up with various co-eds in various settings. His heart sank when he found one picture of Trudy, looking like a love-sick teenager at the older married professor who would ultimately have her murdered in cold blood. So young and innocent, full of life, and yet with the wool pulled over her eyes by a man for whom climbing up the social ladder was all that mattered. He simply could not think about it. Trudy's murder had been solved and was safely filed away in it's own little place. It would be very unsafe to dredge it back up again. And, so, he continued searching.

Leland was going through paperwork, and finding very little of interest.

"Bills, bills, more bills. Insurance policy. Not surprising that it is worth quite a bit…Law license… Award from Berkeley for the Distinguished Professor of the Year…yeah, right. Another bill…and, wait…what's this?" he said out loud.

Adrian looked up. "What, whatcha got?" he asked, still looking through the photographs.

Leland read a little and then looked up at Monk. "It's an import license signed off on by Sharon Grier, representing the US Government, and Ethan Rickover, representing the judiciary of the State of California."

"What?!" Monk exclaimed.

"Looks like Grier signed off on the import of certain munitions from the Middle East and Rickover signed off on allowing their storage within the state." Leland explained to Monk's astonishment.

"So, Rickover was running arms with Grier?" asked Monk.

"And Brown. Who'da thunk that right here in the highest positions in our state and federal government that there would be traitors." Leland concluded after some contemplation.

"It's sickening!" Monk said, looking back down at the photographs. After another minute or two, he looked up at Leland. "Picture of Brown and Rickover as college aged guys with some other guy. They look like they are at a college function. Probably sometime in the early 1970s."

"How can you tell?" asked Leland.

"Clothing, hair. Brown looks like he wants to look like that hippy guy John Lennon, and Rickover doesn't look much better." Adrian mused, then squinted. "Hey Leland, hand me my jacket."

Leland reached his arms over to a chair that Adrian had carefully draped his blazer over and handed it to his friend. "What's up?"

Adrian pulled out his reading glasses and looked closer at the photograph, then looked up with a look of recognition.

Leland looked at his friend and raised his eyebrows. "I know that look. What did you find?"

"I think I've got it!" Adrian exclaimed. "I know what happened."

.

Just then, his cell phone rang and it was Preacher. He had just landed in San Francisco and was en route to Leland's house at that very moment. He told Adrian what happened with Sammy and wanted to meet up.

"Don't go to Leland's house. Go to the Convention Center. We'll meet you there." Adrian replied.

* * *

Miller's plane landed at a small airfield just south of San Francisco at 3:15 PM, and was hidden away inside the hanger. Sammy grabbed some of the weapons and a disguise kit from the back. As his pilot climbed down out of the cockpit, Sammy asked him where he had parked the car for their trip into town.

"It's right over there, by the fuel tanks." The man stated. "Let me give Brown a call and let him know we have arrived." He said, pulling out his cell phone.

"I don't think that is a good idea." Said Sammy, pulling out a pistol and shooting the man twice at point blank range. The man fell dead in an instant and Sammy drug his corpse back behind the hanger and hid it under some bushes, making sure it would not be spotted. He removed the keys from the dead man's pocket and then nonchalantly walked over to the waiting automobile, putting the guns and disguise kit in the back. Then, he jumped in the car and drove it away.

* * *

At the convention center, people were beginning to arrive for the Bookseller's convention. Ambrose had wanted to be there early, so he and Heather met Natalie at the front door. The twins stayed with their grandparents.

"When is Adrian going to get here?" Ambrose asked anxiously.

"Don't worry, Ambrose. He said he'll be here. He'll be here." Natalie said, nervously looking at the door. She hadn't heard from Adrian in several hours and was afraid he would get so wrapped up in his work that he might forget. She texted him but received no response. Shaking her phone, she rocked back and forth nervously on her feet and looked at her watch. The event would start in around an hour and it meant so much to Ambrose, she would feel heartsick if he missed it.

"Adrian! Where are you?" she whispered to herself.

* * *

About this time, Sammy Miller pulled his car into a parking lot just two blocks from the Convention Center. He had stopped along the way and dawned a disguise. He would play an old man with a three-pronged cane in one hand and a hollowed out book full of loaded firearms in the next. He doubted with such an image that anyone would try to stop him, particularly at a Booksellers Convention.

Hobbling through the front doors, he passed directly by Natalie who looked him in the eye, feeling she had seen those eyes somewhere before but not knowing where. He dipped his hat and slowly shuffled across the floor into the main lobby where he purchased his ticket for the Convention.

He wouldn't be the only person in disguise that day. On the other side of the Convention Hall, Damon Brown pushed a rolling trash can through a hallway lined with tables filled with books being sold by people at the convention. As he passed by one particular table, he turned his head so that the author would not see his face and perhaps recognize him. He would find out soon enough that Damon was there.

* * *

Outside, Adrian, Leland and Preacher all arrived at the same time. Parking their cars, Adrian walked quickly and talked to them as they walked.

"Here's what happened!" he began. "Damon Brown and Ethan Rickover were not always the well thought of powerful figures that they were to become later on in life. In the late 1960s and 70s, they were part of the anti-war movement here in the United States, and were ultimately part of a group called the War and Peace Brigade."

"That's the group you were telling me about." Said Leland.

"Yes. But for Preacher's ears, they were a militant group, primarily focused on thwarting what they saw as American Imperialism and expansion and the oppression of non-white races in places like Vietnam as well as here in the United States, through government and corporate means. Some of their aims were noble, but the way they went about things was through violence and general anarchy. Got it so far?"

"I'm following." Preacher said, as the men turned the corner about a block away from the Convention Center.

"Okay. Typically they would bomb small government facilities or places associated with the military, but they were also not opposed to creating chaos by planting small pipe bombs in places like Amusement parks or bus stops. One day, while some in their group were on their way to bomb an Army Recruiting Center, there was an accident in which some of their members were killed. This shook the group to its core and caused a split in their ranks. Some of the more well known members of the Brigade had to go underground, since their names and faces had been identified as being a part of this violent group. Other members, like Ethan Rickover, blended into society and with a little help were able to hide in plain sight, never being tagged for the crimes they had committed. Brown hooked himself up with the Attorney General of California and soon made a name for himself on the respectable side of the world, as a high-powered attorney. Their associations nor their dreams of conquest of the American system, however, never ceased.

In the early 1980s, Rickover and Brown found each other as faculty members at the same institution."

"Berkeley." Said Leland.

"Yes. And they rekindled the philosophical worldview that drove them to violence in the first place. Brown knew Trudy through her association with Rickover, and that's how he knew me. Around this time, a daughter of a Russian Spy, former KGB, signed up at Berkeley, and, seeing her skill and intelligence, they recruited her into their cause. She would later be known as Sharon Grier, but that was not her original name. Sharon participated in the protests against institutional racism and against nuclear proliferation throughout the 1980s and grew into somewhat of a leader in the group. Rickover and Brown used their tenure as Professors to hide behind the cloak of Education, but worked with her in building this underground network of rogue groups around the country with the same nefarious goals. At one of the protests, Sasha, as she was then called, was tagged as an instigator, and a warrant was put out for her arrest. So, Rickover and Brown helped her to disappear. They changed her identity and moved her into the world of politics on the opposite coast, where she quickly went up the ladder, ultimately becoming FBI Director through Brown's financial influence."

"But Grier and Rickover are Dead. What is Brown's scheme now?" Asked Preacher.

"Revenge, and proving a point." Said Adrian.

"Come again?" asked Leland.

"When I saw the photograph back at Brown's house, I thought it was some sort of college gathering. Instead, it was a gathering of members of the War and Peace Brigade, at a point in time where they were still intact as a group. They were wearing Name Badges with their group's insignia – a hammer, sickle, and a bomb. The man standing next to them was a man named Samuel Asbury." Adrian explained.

"Sam A." said Preacher.

"Yes. Sam was part of the group, and supported them up until a point. He was one of the ones who went underground. Years of living away from the group-think created in such environments, however, he wised up. His point of view changed entirely, and while he is still for racial equality and world peace, he believes non-violence is the only way to achieve these things. He recently wrote a book, and is one of the keynote speakers here at the convention." Adrian said, walking up to the door.

"So…Damon Brown is out to prove to Samuel Asbury that violence is a more effective way at achieving one's goals than non-violence?" asked Preacher.

"You've got it. And my gut feel is, he's going to try to do it here at this convention." He said, entering the door. "Let's go find Ambrose and Natalie. We can't let him go up on that stage tonight."

* * *

In the basement of the facility, Damon Brown had made his way down the stairs and stood in the midst of crates of books that were shipped in from publishers around the country for the event. He looked carefully at the labels until he came upon a particular crate. It wasn't very large, but it was lethal.

Dragging the crate into the center of the room, he found a crow bar and lifted the lid on the box. He removed protective packing and decoy books from around another box at the center of the shipment, and then gently lifted out the box, removing its tape and taking out a small device with wires and some brick shaped plastic explosives. The plan was a non-electric detonator would be set up close to the explosives which were attached to a main support pillar directly under the stage of the Convention Center. If all went well, Brown planned on lighting the fuse that would set off the charge and ultimately cause an explosion that would bring down the stage and the floor that it stood on. It was something he hadn't attempted before, but he had calculated the amount of energy such a blast would require and had set things up to where he was reasonably sure of his success.

As he carefully unwrapped the plastics, he began molding them in strategically relevant distances along the base and up the side of the pillar. As he did so, he imagined the terror on the faces and the anger that would follow as they demanded answers from the San Francisco Police and ultimately from Stoddard himself. So deep in thought was he that he didn't notice when Sammy Miller entered the room and jumped, nearly dropping his charge, when Miller made his presence known.

"Hello, Damon." Miller stated in a most sinister way.

Damon turned and saw that it was Sammy and looked behind him to make sure that the police were not following.

"Miller. Well…surprised to see you here. I thought the Feds had you captured." Brown stated.

"They did. And, then…they didn't. You really didn't expect them to hold me long, did you, Damon?" Sammy replied.

"Um, no. I suppose not. What are you doing in California? You're taking a great risk…" Brown stated.

"Risk? Come on, Damon. You don't think that you're going to get away with gaining all the glory for yourself now do you? I'm here to assist. Besides, have you ever actually set these things up?" he asked.

Brown was silent.

"I didn't think so. You're doing it all wrong." He stated. "Here, let me help."

* * *

Upstairs, the event coordinators had called for all participants to take the stage in preparation for the beginning of the event. Meanwhile, Adrian had found Natalie and told her of everything that was going down. Her job was to keep Ambrose from taking the stage while he, Leland and Preacher along with some of San Francisco's finest, scoured the crowd looking for either Miller or Brown.

Natalie found Ambrose at the foot of the stage just about to ascend the stairs. She grabbed him forcefully by his arm and pulled him to the side

"Ambrose. Wait!" she said.

"Natalie, they're calling for me." Ambrose said resisting her pull.

"You can't go up there. Don't go up there. Adrian just saw me and there is something wrong." She said.

"He made it! Hey, great! That's great news, Natalie. Listen, we can talk about this when the ceremony is over. I really have to go." He said, smiling and turning back towards the stage.

"No! Ambrose, you can't go. Listen to me, stop!" she said.

Just then, event security took her gently by the arms and drug her away from Ambrose's side as he walked up on the stage.

"It'll be okay." He said to her as he walked up the stairs. "This is something I have to do. I have to prove to myself that I can do it."

"But Ambrose, you don't understand…" Natalie said, as the guard kept pulling her away.

"Miss…listen, you can talk to your boyfriend after the event. We are under strict orders, only those with the right credentials are to take the stage."

"But, Mr. you don't understand…" she pleaded.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard it all before." He said.

"They could be in danger." She said.

"A bunch of authors? Okay. If that is the case, you can go tell it to the head of security. I'll take you to him." The cop said, as he took Natalie away physically towards the back offices away from the stage.

* * *

Adrian, Leland and Preacher looked at each and every face in the crowd as they pushed through the hallway hoping to find one or both of their guys. When they had gone around the entire circle, they stopped and looked around trying to determine what was next. It was then that Adrian noticed the trash can sitting over towards the side of the hall, right next to the basement steps. Walking to the trash can, he raised his hands about chest height and then pointed at preacher, nodding for him to stick his hand in the trash and see what was in there.

"Me? You want me to fish in the garbage?" Preacher said, disbelieving.

"Yeah. I want you to take a look." Said Monk.

"What's wrong with your hands, they broke?" Preacher rebutted.

Leland and Monk both gave Preacher a look as if to say _you can't be serious_. So, Preacher shook his head, opened Monk's lapel, and pulled out his handkerchief, using it to reach into the trash can and pull out what he could.

_Soda pop cups, trays with nachos and cheese…gross…potato chips…_

"Wait. What have we here?" he said.

Monk and Leland leaned forward as Preacher pulled out a wig, and hat which simply stated EVENT STAFF on the front of it.

"They're here!" Monk said. "The basement."

"Let's go!" Leland said, as the three men went through the doorway and into the hallway leading down to the lower level of the building.


	36. Chapter 36

Natalie Monk sat angrily in the office of the security coordinator for the Convention Center waiting for him to get off the phone. As she tapped her foot, he said sweet nothings to a lady friend of his on the phone and turned his shoulder to Natalie's increasingly hostile demeanor. After five minutes of this, she had enough, stood up and pressed in the switchhook, hanging up the call.

"Hey lady, what'd you do that for?" asked the coordinator, coming up out of his chair.

"I have waited long enough." She said angrily. "You're about to have an incident in this Convention Center where people could die. You need to at least pretend as if you care."

"What? What are you talking about? We've got the best security…" he said, waving his hand at her and sitting back down to return the phone call.

She picked up the phone and held it away from him, getting his attention.

"You may not know who I am, but my name is Natalie Monk and my husband is a VERY important man in this nation. He is the Deputy Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and he has been pursuing a very important case that looks like it is about to end with terrible consequences here in this Convention Center. I need for you to get everyone off of that stage now! This is a life or death matter." She said.

He looked at her seriously, but then dismissed it as some angry girlfriend or groupie like he had seen dozens of times before at the Center.

"Listen lady, I don't care if your husband is Elvis Presley come back from the grave…the show must go on." He said. "Now hand me my phone."

"No." she said.

"Listen, you don't want me to call the cops." He said.

"We ARE the cops you moron!" she said, angrily. "Wait. You don't want to believe me, I have someone you will believe."

She took the phone and dialed out as the man tossed his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes.

"Yes. John. This is Natalie. Yes. We have Damon Brown and Sammy Miller here at the Convention Center and they are about to pull off some really scary stuff. The head of security here seems to think it is funny to give me the run around and not cooperate with getting people to safety. Would you speak with him?" she said. "Okay, thanks." She said, handing the receiver to the Coordinator.

"Ed Bolser here." The man said. "What? Who? _The_ President of the United States?! Ummm…yes sir….fifteen years sir, uh, yes sir, I would like to continue to have this job… No sir, I won't impede the investigation. Yes sir…she can have anything she needs. Yes…it's an honor sir….what? Ummm…sir, I'm not sure that is even physically possible and I can assure you that my head has been no such place…Uh. Yes. Alright. Thank you sir. Yes. You have a good evening, sir. Goodnight."

Natalie stood with one eyebrow raised and arms crossed in front of Bolser. "Now, do you believe me?"

Bolser looked up to her. He wasn't used to having his tail end handed to him on a platter. "Yeah. I believe you." He said, defeated. Then he yelled "Rawlings!"

A man appeared at the door expecting to be told that he needed to usher Natalie out. He even took her by the arms. "Yes, sir!" he said.

"Get your hands off of her, idiot! Don't you know who this is? It is the wife of the Deputy Director of the FBI. You are to do whatever it is she tells you to do, you hear me? And do it quickly!" Bolser ordered.

"Yes sir!" Rawlings replied. "Tom Rawlings, at your service, ma'am."

Natalie grabbed Rawlins by the arm and drug him quickly out the door. "We don't have time for introductions. Something big is about to go down here quickly. We've got to get those people off the stage!"

* * *

Adrian, Leland and Preacher slowly went down the stairs towards the basement warehouse, stopping at a landing just above where Brown and Miller stood in a heated argument. As they fought, Leland directed Monk and Preacher to split up and go in opposite directions along a catwalk which bordered the top parameter of the room. He would come down the stairs front and center.

"Did I say I needed your help? Sammy?" Damon Brown fumed.

"Brown, you don't seem to get it. I've earned the right not to be subject to your orders ever again. Your orders got several of our teams headed for the federal penitentiary and a few of them dead. So, I'm not interested in whether or not you think you _need_ my help. You're getting it!" he said.

"Why you, low down…!" Damon said, lunging towards Miller. Miller immediately pulled a 45 caliber pistol out of his jacket.

"Careful there, Damon. Remember why you have me around. You're not the kinda guy who likes to get his hands dirty. Not at all. That's why you hired me, to get my hands dirty. I don't mind getting my hands dirty. Particularly not when it involves scum like you." Miller snarled.

Leland slipped down the stairs unobserved and stood on the main level.

"Hold it right there! San Francisco P.D. Freeze, and drop your weapon!" Leland yelled commandingly, holding up a badge in one hand and training his service pistol on Sammy Miller with the other.

Miller pivoted quickly and fired two shots directly at Leland who took one in his upper left shoulder and the other just above his knee. The Commissioner came crashing to the ground, but not before firing off his own rounds, hitting Miller directly in the chest and lower abdomen. Miller dropped like a lead balloon, his head hit the ground and his eyes glazed over, fixed on the crates around twenty feet in front of him.

Leland began to drag himself to a place of safety, having lost his firearm when he fell to the floor. Damon, walked over Sammy's body and went and retrieved the service pistol, taking time to bend down and taunt Leland one more time.

"If it isn't Commissioner Stottlemeyer." He said, taking the service pistol and brushing Leland's chin with it. "I should kill you right now, but I really don't have the time. You see, Sam Asbury should be taking the stage about now and I really want him to have a _blast_ when he gives his speech tonight." he sneered. He looked at his watch. It was 5:03 PM.

"Oh, now look what you men have done. You've gone and made me late to my own party!" Brown stated. "Gotta go light them candles! Pardon me, if I forgot to bring the cake!" he laughed.

Leland sat and held his bleeding shoulder and looked around the catwalk to see if he could spot his friends. There were crates hanging from the ceiling and a system of hooks and pulleys whereby Convention Center movers could move the crates around, and he wasn't able to see them in the darkness.

However, that might be, Adrian and Preacher kept pace with one another and formulated their plan from the rafters.

Damon Brown took his detonator and moved about ten feet out from the pillar, standing directly to the side of Sammy Miller. Miller had not moved since he had been shot, but still held his gun in his right hand. As he bent down to light the fuse, Leland spotted Miller rolling up to his side and training his 45 directly at Leland. Stuck in a corner, Leland flinched and tried to move out of harm's way. But Miller did not stop here. Instead, he turned over onto his back just as Damon Brown had lit the fuse and trained the weapon directly at Brown's chest. Brown spotted this and kicked Sammy's arm at exactly the same time that Sammy pulled the trigger, causing the bullet to rip through his shoulder but missing his chest. He kicked the 45 out of Sammy's reach and then stomped Sammy in the chest screaming at him with all of his might.

"Do you see what you have done, you fool! You ingrate! I'm, I'm shot! How dare you!" Brown raged, as the fuse slowly crept its way towards the detonator which was wired around the plastic explosives attached to the pillar.

Adrian and Preacher looked at one another. There was no more time. They had to act now or all would be lost. Each man wrapped a loop of rope around his torso and attached the loop to a pulley hook. That was the easy part. Next, they each climbed up onto the railing of the catwalk. Preacher did so with a prayer, and Monk with eyes focused straight ahead on Preacher, willing himself to NOT. LOOK. DOWN.

At the count of three, both men jumped from the catwalks and careened along the ropes, sliding down feet first towards a crate that was balanced precariously about twenty feet above Brown and Miller's heads. Preacher landed on the left side of the crate lid and Monk on the right, and both men nodded to one another as they each unlatched the safety hooks which held the crate to the pulley, allowing it to break free and come smashing all of the way to the ground.

* * *

On the upper floor, Natalie was having a difficult time getting Ambrose off of the stage.

"No, Natalie. I have to prove to myself I can do this!" he said.

"Ambrose, there is not time. You are in danger! Please, come with me! You can prove this to yourself later!" she cried, pulling him by his hand.

"No. I can't go!" he said, tugging her the other way and leaving her on the steps as he began to walk towards the center of the stage. He had walked no further than four feet when he felt a large thump underneath the stage.

He looked at Natalie, with fear in his eyes.

"Please! My children need their uncle." She pleaded, with one more cry.

He stopped where he was, and then took off running towards her, taking her by the hand and running off the stage with her in tow.

* * *

Down below, the fallen crate had not only caused Sammy Miller and Damon Brown to become one with the concrete floor, but also yanked at the plastic explosives and dislodged them from the pillar, causing them to scatter on the ground. Only one brick of C4 explosive still had the detonator attached to it, but that was enough to create quite a blast. With Monk and Preacher hanging by a loop of rope some twenty feet overhead and Leland some forty feet away, removed from his firearm, there was simply no time to stop the blast from happening.

The two suspended men grabbed onto the rope, trying feverishly to get back to the sides of the room, watching the fuse as they went. Then they stayed put and all three men cupped their arms over their faces and ears so as to incur minimal damage.

***BAM!***

The explosive went off, setting off a blast that blew a hole straight through the stage floor and sent a fireball up through the hole, searing through the rope and causing Monk and Preacher to go swinging Tarzan-style into the side walls of the warehouse basement. Both men took a hard bounce and then fell down onto crates immediately below.

* * *

Up above, the blast was enough to knock Ambrose and Natalie to the ground, and they turned in horror in time to see the fireball ignite the banner over the stage and then dissipate into a puff of smoke.

The panicked crowd went running out of the room as Convention hall security and SFPD ran towards the stage in order to inspect what had happened.

"Are you two alright?" Heather asked, running up and bending down to hug Ambrose.

"Yeah. We're fine. Natalie saved my life." Ambrose said. "We could have been killed."

Natalie was slightly dazed from being thrown to the ground but when she heard the word killed she immediately exclaimed "Adrian!"

* * *

Jumping up, she ran up onto the stage to look down into the hole. Security personnel tried to grab onto her arm, telling her it wasn't safe, but she had to see for herself. It was pitch black below, so she ran over to the security guard and ordered him to take her down below.

* * *

The basement warehouse was largely intact, with the exception of the center of the room and the gaping hole above it. Natalie and a contingent of officers walked down the stairs and into the area with a sense of trepidation, but that ended when she spotted Leland. She ran to him.

"Leland!" she exclaimed. "You're hurt!"

"Hey, Natalie." Leland said, "I've never been happier to see you."

She turned to the officer, "Can you go get him some help?"

"Sure thing!" he answered, running back up the stairs to call for EMTs.

Turning back to Leland, she asked "Where's…where's Adrian." Fearful of the answer she would get.

Leland nodded his head towards the wall on the right side. "He's over there. I saw him go down when the blast went off."

"Leland, I have to go." She said.

"Go! It's fine." He replied, as she jumped up and ran to the side of the room, climbing on top of crates and boxes looking for wherever Adrian might have fallen.

As she reached a box about five feet from the wall, she saw him. Laying on his back on top of a crate, his leg at an odd angle beside him, rope around his chest, just looking at the ceiling.

"Adrian!" she said, jumping over to his box and then getting on her knees beside him. "Honey, are you okay? Say something."

He looked up at her and sighed. "C4 Explosives."

"What?" she asked.

"C4 Explosives." He repeated.

"They used C4 explosives?" she asked.

"No. Just C4 explosives. Write that down. You can put that on the list above snakes, but right below dentists. I'm still more afraid of dentists." He said, resuming his examination of the rafters.

* * *

The next morning, Monk, Preacher and Leland all had the honor of being visited by the President of the United States and acting FBI Director Abramson at the hospital. The Press had been fully briefed and Stoddard had been able to turn it into somewhat of a success story for his administration, though Abramson had come under fire for allowing Miller to escape Washington D.C. in the first place, and had quietly tendered his resignation.

Natalie and Ambrose had stayed by Adrian's side the entire time and T.K. by Leland's until it was determined that they were not in any danger and they were told to go home and get some rest. Back at the Stottlemeyers, the two ladies sat in the living room with Ambrose and Heather while the TV played softly in the backround. They discussed the never ending adventure of being in the lives of Adrian and Leland, and all agreed they would have it no other way.

Their conversation came to a halt when a news anchor from CNN announced that the President was about to make a statement from the hospital about the event.

"Turn that up." Natalie said to T.K. who grabbed the remote and raised the volume on the set.

_We are waiting to hear from President John Stoddard who is at San Francisco General visiting those injured in yesterday's blast. Dead in the incident were attorney Damon Brown and wanted felon Sammy Miller. You know, the administration has taken some criticism since yesterday for its handling of the Sammy Miller case, allowing this clearly evil person to get loose and putting other's lives at risk – so much so that acting FBI Director Abramson announced his resignation earlier this morning. The President is expected to come out today and give us a few words about the incident but is also widely expected to name Deputy Director Adrian Monk as his new Nominee for Director of the FBI._

"Adrian's dream job!" Ambrose stated, wistfully.

Natalie's heart sank at the same time her pride swelled for the man to whom she had devoted the rest of her life. She desperately wanted him to leave Washington D.C. but did not want to stand in the way of him achieving his dreams. She quietly waited for the President to enter.

* * *

Three more minutes passed and the President walked in flanked by Abramson and Associate Deputy Director of the FBI, Will Jeffries.

"Good Afternoon." He said, without delay once behind the podium. "I just have a few brief words. I am happy to announce that America can now rest easy knowing that this reign of terror that has been sweeping the nation the past few weeks is at an end. Those most responsible for the efforts are dead, and those who contributed to it are either currently in police custody or being rounded up as we now yet speak.

Deputy Director Adrian Monk, Police Commissioner Leland Stottlemeyer, and Captain Jedediah Armstrong are all doing well and are expected to make a full recovery. With this in mind, I have asked Deputy Director Monk to replace Director Abramson who tendered his letter of resignation to me this morning."

T.K. reached out and patted Natalie on the shoulder as she watched the television with a conflicted heart.

"Deputy Director Monk has declined my invitation and has indicated that he wishes to return to Boston with his wife Natalie and their two adorable children. Therefore, I would like to announce that I am elevating Will Jeffries, a career employee with the FBI, to the role of FBI director and would ask that the Senate speedily confirm his nomination."

Natalie heard no more of the conference. All she picked up on was that Adrian had been offered his dream job but had declined it to spend time with her.

"No! I can't have him do that!" she said. "I need to get back to the hospital! Heather, can you drive me there?"

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital, Adrian was laying in bed with his hands over his chest resting as peacefully as she had ever seen. She didn't want to wake him up, so she just sat there and watched him. Nevertheless, he could be a very light sleeper and somehow sensed her presence. With his eyes still shut he spoke to her.

"I thought you were supposed to be at home getting some rest." He said.

She smiled. "I came back. I just heard Stoddard offered you the FBI Director job, and you refused."

"Yes." He said.

"Why?" she asked. "It was your dream."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You're my dream. You and the children and the life we have. That's all I really want. You know, I always used to pretend that I was going to be a G-Man. When Ambrose and I were growing up. I've lived long enough that I achieved that goal, and much like I felt when I got my badge back, I know that this life is not the life for me. I don't work well under someone else's direction … unless it's Leland, and then were basically partners. I like being my own boss."

"But if you were FBI Director, you'd be the boss." She said.

"No. No I wouldn't. There would always be someone, some political figure, some press person, pushing me to do what they wanted me to do. Making me stand for things I don't want to happen. And…I wouldn't be happy. And, you wouldn't be happy. I'm happy when you're happy, and I'm happy when I am with you. So…I told him no."

Natalie smiled. "How did he take it?"

"Oh, not well. I think he was a bit embarrassed. Stoddard isn't used to being told no about much. I think Gloria is the only one who really gets by with it. But, he said a deal was a deal and he signed the papers that will let me out of my contract. The minute I get released from the hospital, we're free to go and do whatever it is we want to do." He said.

Natalie smiled broadly and reached down and gave him a bear hug. "I love you!" she said.

"I love you more." He replied, smiling back at her and giving her an eskimo kiss from his bed.


	37. Chapter 37

EPILOGUE

Natalie and Adrian stood by Leland as they said their goodbyes to their good friend from Washington D.C., Preacher Armstrong, looking like battered soldiers who had just returned home from a turbulent battle. And indeed, they were. They had fought for justice and the preservation of the nation and they had emerged victorious – something they, and the entire nation, could give thanks for.

As their friend hugged them and wished them godspeed until they would meet again, they knew that somehow their paths would cross again, and with all they had been through, they also counted on having a friend for life.

Armstrong had been offered a position by Stoddard at the FBI; but, like Adrian, he had declined based upon where he felt he was the greatest fit. The role he felt predestined to fill was as Captain of the Police Department in his own little burgh, helping his neighbors and striving to keep inner city kids away from becoming the next Sammy Millers of the world. Still, Stoddard wanted to honor him for his daring rescue of Emma and for the take down of Miller, and planned on awarding him a medal upon his return to Washington D.C.

* * *

The Monks, decided to stay a few more weeks in San Francisco before returning to their home in Boston. With Julie still living in Cambridge, they looked forward to seeing her again. But, after the month they just had, they both needed the break and it was good being back amongst friends and family in familiar surroundings, if only for a little while. They wished, in real and tangible way, that it could continue. They didn't know how quickly that wish was about to be realized – at least, in part.

* * *

On the third night after being dismissed from the hospital, the Adrian Monks, Stottlemeyers and the Ambrose Monks all had dinner at Heather and Ambrose's place. The evening was going very well, but Ambrose seemed a bit more nervous than usual throughout it all. After they finished dessert, Ambrose and Adrian cleared the table and went into the kitchen to hand wash the dishes. Standing side by side, the two brothers smiled quietly to one another, being reminded of the times when they were kids standing at the sink doing the same thing.

Once finished, they walked out the back door onto the patio where their wives and the Stottlemeyers were enjoying a bit more conversation. Adrian went and sat by Natalie and Ambrose by Heather, trying to follow along with the general flow, since the evening was still young. After a few more minutes, Leland decided to ask Adrian what came next.

"Well… Back to Boston. To Julie. I'm out of a job. So, I thought I might try doing the Private Detective thing that Natalie once tried to set up for me." He said.

"Oh…the one where you hooked me up with Linda Fusco?" Leland asked.

"Hooked you up? I didn't hook you up with Linda Fusco." Adrian replied. "You did that on your own!"

"Yeah…I suppose you're right." Said Stottlemeyer, playing with the toothpick which protruded from his mouth.

"Isn't anyone interested in what we're going to do?" Ambrose asked, anxiously.

"You?" Natalie asked. "Do you and Heather have plans?"

"Yes." Ambrose said. "Very _big_ plans."

Everyone was quiet for a moment until Adrian said, "Okay, go on. Tell us."

"Well… I've been doing so well getting out of the house and out and about, that we've decided we're going to pack up and move to Boston as well!" he said.

Adrian and Natalie shook their heads and then looked at Ambrose in shock.

"What?! You're moving to Boston? When did this happen?" Natalie asked.

"It happened when Heather let me know that Adrian is going to be an uncle." Ambrose said. "And, you're going to be an aunt."

All mouths dropped open and the group sat with stunned smiles on their faces until finally they each started laughing.

"Congratulations, Ambrose! Heather! That's wonderful!" Adrian said, standing up and giving his brother a hug. "But, why would you want to move to Boston? Your life is here."

"No. My house is here. My life is with people I love. And, I love and I miss my little brother. I miss my sister Natalie. I…I want to be a part of my niece and nephew's lives and get to watch them grow up. I want my son or daughter to get to know them as well. I don't want fear to keep me from doing it. Life's too short." Ambrose said.

Adrian smiled at his brother's growth. It had been such a long time coming and he never thought he would see the day. But, here it was. Life was moving on and things were turning out better than he could have expected – even for Ambrose.

What new adventures awaited them, Heaven only knew; but for now, he was as content as he could be among his friends and family in the town he grew up in, in the state that he once called home.

"When are you planning on packing?" Adrian asked. "I can help you get everything organized." he offered, as they continued their conversation until late in the evening underneath a starry San Francisco sky.


End file.
